UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 
LIBRARY 

ILLINOIS  HISTORICAL  SURVEY 

Class  Book  Volume 


F  11-20M 


l'\])HR  THE  (iAS-LlGHT: 


LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS 


STATE  CAPITAL  OF  ILLINOIS. 


B  Y    I) .    L  E  I  B    A  M  B  R  O  S  K  , 

l CITY   K.mroK  SAN<;AMO  MONITOR.) 


SPRINGFIELD,    ILL. 

T.  W.  S.  KTDD,  PUBLISH  KR. 
L879. 


Entered 'according  to  act  of  Congress,  in  the  yeur  1879,  by  D.  I-KIH  AMUKOSK.  in  tin- 
office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  :it  Washington. 


I.   W.  KOKKKK,  HINDKK. 


DEDICATION. 


TO  TIIK    MEMOIiV    OK   1IKK   WHO   IX   I. IKK 

WAS  HIS  Gl  IDINC;   STAR, 
AM)     WHO     TO-DAY     WEARS     TIIK     ETERNAL 

CROWN   OK    WOMANHOOD, 

THIS    VOLUME     IS    TKXDKRLY     INSCRIBED 
BY    THE    AUTHOR. 


192408 


I  ~nder  the   Gas-L,ighfs  glare  ami  s/iectt, 
The  Rambler  rambled,  facts  to  glean. 
He  satv  in  the  shades  of  the  night, 
Pictures  gloomv  and  pictures  bright. 


PREFACE. 


This  volume,  as  the  reader  beholds  it.  embraces  the  results 
of  a  series  of  rambles  in  the  State  Capital  of  Illinois,  which 
have  appeared  in  the  Monday  morning  issue  of  the  DAILY 
.A  MO  MONITOR  during  the  past  year.  If  there  be  found 
one  sentence  that  will  create  a  cheerful  feeling,  or  swell  the 
soul  to  a  lofty  -entiment.  the  rambler  will  feel  rewarded  for 
hi-  work. 

Only  a  part  of  the  rambles  are  presented — those  which,  in 
humble  judgment,  were  deemed  the  most  worthy.  Many  of 
these  have  received  additions  suggested  by  further  observa- 
tion and  thought^  What  vou  see  before  vou  is  roar*  to  ap- 
prove or  disapprove.  The  work,  in  the  main,  was  accom- 
plished in  busy  hours,  and  therefore  in  its  perusal  a  generous 
consideration  is  invoked. 

D.  L.  A. 

Springfield,  111.,  Nov.  14,  1879. 


UNDER  THE  GAS-LIGHT. 


RAMBLE    I. 

"IPjE  pass  along  a  prominent  street.  We  see  here  a  pal- 
ace and  there  a  cottage.  There  is  an  "  Under  the 
Gas-light"  in  the  one,  but  in  the  other  a  modest  lamp 
emits  a  modest  light.  Ingersoll  says :  "  Burns  was  a  cottage 
and  Shakespeare  a  palace,  but  about  the  cottage  were  more 
flowers  and  of  a  sweeter  perfume  than  about  the  palace." 

From  what  we  have  observed  in  our  life  and  in  our  ram- 
bles may  we  not  paraphrase  and  say,  "Yonder  is  a  cottage 
and  yonder  is  a  palace,  but  in  the  cottage  is  more  heart  and 
of  sweeter  perfume  than  in  the  palace;"  yet  we  cannot  do 
without  the  one  any  more  than  we  can  do  without  the  other. 
From  each  come  lessons  telling  many  of  life's  stern  and  es- 
sential duties.  From  each  comes  a  hope.  The  cottager 
hopes  for  a  better  condition  in  life,  and  through  the  inspira- 
tion of  that  hope  toils  on  in  the  even  tenor  of  his  way.  The 
man  in  the  mansion,  under  the  glare  and  glitter  of  the  gas- 


io  Under  the   Gas-Light. 

light  may  hope  for  that  which  the  cottager  possesses — health 
and  happiness. 

It  is  now  late.  The  man  in  the  palace  has  a  call  for  charity, 
but  the  call  is  not  heeded.  The  cottager  has  the  same  call ; 

O  * 

he  lends  a' listening  ear.  He  had  read  in  a  book  of  Christian 
cherishing,  "the  chiefest  among  these  is  charity."  It  was  re- 
membered that  such  was  the  teaching  of  Christ,  and  that  the 
fruit  thereof  was  sunshine,  not  shadows;  hope,  not  desolation; 
affection,  not  bitterness;  flowers,  not  thorns;  and  the  suppliant 
was  put  in  a  "condition  of  thankfulness.  There  was  more 
heart  in  the  cottage'  and  of  a  sweeter  perfume,  than  there  was 
in  the  palace,  and  all  because  there  had  not  been  as  much 
contact  with  the  world,  and  as  much  hurtful  friction. 

An  out-of-the-way  place  is  entered,  where  is  seen  a  justice 
of  the  peace,  a  constable,  and  a  candidate  for  office.  Officials 
in  these  times  seem  to  take  many  official  liberties,  and  candi- 
dates hunt  for  votes  in  many  strange  places.  The  day  pre- 
ceding, these  men  had  much  to  say  about  modern  civil  service 
and  its  corruptions. 

"Here's  success  to  you,"  says  one  to  the  other,  and  up  their 
hands  go.  "The  chiefest  of  these  is  charity,"  is  the  text  of 
the  great  gospel,  and  therefore  we  will  say  no  more  at  this 
time. 

A  stranger  stands  upon  the  post-office  corner.  A  word  or 
two  from  him  reveals  the  fact  that  he  is  an  old  soldier — a  vet- 
eran of '6 1. 


Under  the   Gas- Light.  n 

"Can  you  tell  me  where  Lincoln's  old  residence  is?" 

"Yes,"  was  the  reply,  and  then  followed  the  directions. 

"During  the  day  I  visited  the  Monument  at  Oak  Ridge." 

"And  you  found  it  a  pleasant  place  ?" 

"Very  pleasant,  indeed." 

"But  before  I  leave  on  the  midnight  train  I  must  see  where 
the  martyred  president  lived  ere -he  rose  to  fame,  power  and 
immortality." 

The  man  was  cultured  and  appreciative.  A  guide  con- 
ducted him  to  the  place  where  he  desired  to  go,  and  gazing 
for  some  time  upon  the  house  that  will  for  ages  be  a  historic 
landmark,  he  turned  away,  saying:  "A  hundred  years  from 
to-night  the  visitor  and  the  pilgrim  will  see  different  sur- 
roundings, and  the  then  people  of  Springfield  will  appreci- 
ate this  place  more  than  they  of  to-day  do." 

Sunday  night  and  the  rambles  are  resumed. 

We  take  it  that  those  out  early  this  evening  "under  the 
gas-lights"  are  church  goers.  There  may  be  some  excep- 
tions, and  more  perhaps  than  there  should  be. 

It  is  said  that  church  goers  are  more  numerous  in  this 
country  than  in  any  other,  owing  perhaps  to  the  more  liberal 
distribution  of  intelligence  among  the  people.  In  fact,  church 
going  has  long  been  considered  one  of  the  requirements 
of  our  civilization,  and  the  requirement  was  well  met  by 
our  church  people  in  this  city  yesterday  and  last  night. 
Standing  under  the  gas-light,  we  saw  pass,  Methodists,  Catho- 


12  Under  the   Gas-Light. 

lies,  Presbyterians,  Baptists,  Lutherans,  Congregationalists 
and  Christians.  There  was  a  pausing  to  reflect  over  the  di- 
versity of  sects,  and  yet  it  is  claimed  that  all  sects  preach 
Christ,  and  in  their  efforts  toward  human  salvation,  and  hu- 
man elevation,  promulgate  alike  the  principles  of  mercy, 
peace  and  love.  Whatever  may  be  said  of  other  places,  the 
observation  is  that  in  Springfield  there  is  a  commendable 
charity  exhibited  in  religious  things.  A  Methodist  and  a 
Catholic  pass  along  arm  in  arm,  having  come  together  in 
returning  from  their  places  of  worship.  This  suggested  that 
iron-bound  creeds  and  rigid  theology  had  spent  their 
exacting  force  before  reaching  our  present  civilization. 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  13 


RAMBLE    II. 

the  heavens  no  stars  are  to  be  seen.  Clouds  hang  low, 
and  a  chill  wind  creeps  about.  Upon  a  quiet  street  the 
rambler  rambles.  Attention  is  directed  to  a  house 
humble  in  appearance.  There  is  a  light  in  the  window,  shin- 
ing as  brightly  as  though  the  clouds  in  the  heavens  did  not  hang 
low  and  the  winds  were  not  chill.  The  curtain  is  not  wholly 
closed,  and  through  the  opening  is  seen  a  company  of  bright- 
faced,  and  bright-eyed  children,  surrounding  a  mother.  It  is 
a  picture  of  love,  and  a  scene  of  affection.  There  was  matur- 
ity in  the  midst  of  childhood,  and  it  appeared  that  a  blessing 
was  being  imparted  in  the  character  of  instructive  lessons. 
The  impression  obtained  at  once  that  this  was  a  heart  home. 
While  we  paused  a  good  strong,  man  came  down  the  street, 
and,  turning  in  at  the  gate,  knocked  for  admittance.  "Who's 
there?"  was  the  quick  response.  The  reply  was  uttered  in  a 
manly  voice,  in  a  tone  that  was  familiar,  and  in  a  moment 
the  door  was  open,  and  the  "tree  a  vine  was  clinging  to," 
passed  in  from  the  darkness  and  the  chill  wind.  It  was  plain 
that,  in  the  best  sense  of  the  word,  he  was,  in  that  home,  the 
defender  of  the  faithful.  From  under  the  gas-light  was 


14  Under  the   Gas-Light. 

heard  the  pattering  of  little  feet,  and  the  music  of  God's  best 
divinity  as  it  existed  in  the  heart  and  soul  of  childish  inno- 
cence. No  matter  now  if  in  the  outside  world  their  raged  a 
tempest  and  existed  a  restless  discontent.  To  this  man  at 
this  period  such  conditions  were  of  no  moment.  He  lived 
now  in  a  kingdom  of  his  own,  surrounded  by  an  unlimited 
loyalty,  begotten  in  the  secret  chambers  of  the  heart  and  soul. 

The  rambler  wraps  his  coat  closer  about  him,  and  amid  the 
outward  elements,  fringed  with  discomfort,  he  passes  on  to 
other  points  and  other  scenes. 

On  a  southwest  corner  he  pauses,  and  pausing,  looks  up, 
and  through  the  darkness,  and  the  overhanging  branches  of  a  . 
tree,  far  above  the  earth  where  space  is  cheap,  and  where  ex- 
istance  is  less  costly,  a  light  is  seen.  It  conies  through  a 
window  more  modest  than  those  below,  but  nearer  the 
clouds,  and  nearer  the  stars.  The  window  has  the  character 
of  a  door  and  is  now  slightly  ajar.  Through  it  comes  a  strain 
of  music  floating  as  it  were  upon  golden  cords  through  the 
air.  The  song  was  in  the  English  mother  tongue,  and  there- 
fore English  mothers'  sons  could  appreciate  it.  It  had  a 
sentiment — had  a  soul,  and  the  beauty  of  that  sentiment,  and  the 
debth  of  that  soul  was  easily  comprehended.  Its  drapery 
and  finish  was  of  a  clear  Saxon  brand — a  drapery  and  fin- 
ish that  surrounds  the  best  songs  and  music,  which,  in  all  the 
ages,  has  been  developed  in  the  human  heart.  The  song  that 
came  from  that  humble  yet  lofty  window,  or  from  the  soul 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  15 

behind  it,  partook  of  divinity,  and  carried  with  it  a  melody 
infinite  in  conception.  A  step  or  two  below  might  have  ex- 
isted an  infatuation  for  the  artistic,  combined  with  the  grand 
harmonies,  but  this  infatuation  wrould  leave  the  soul  in  a  con- 
dition of  barrenness,  that  is,  the  English  speaking,  and  the 
English  understanding  soul.  After  all  there  must  be  had  a 
charity  for  tastes,  and  be  yielded  a  concession  to  diverse  opin- 
ions. This  we  have,  and  this  we  do,  but  under  that  gaslight 
on  that  southwest  corner  there  came  to  us  from  that  attic 
window,  upon  an  angle  of  forty-five  degrees,  the  song  and 
the  music  bound  to  move  a  midnight  rambler: 

"Rest  for  the  weary  hands  is  g-ood 
And  love  for  hearts  that  pine, 
But  let  the  manly  habitude 
Of  upright  souls  be  mine." 

These  lines  were  the  ones  that  had  been  wedded  to  music, 
and  the  music  did  not  lord  it  over  the  lines,  nor  did  the  lines 
beat  the  music. 

It  is  now  past  the  midnight  hour,  and  as  we  count  time  the 
boundary  'twixt  Saturday  and  Sunday  has  been  passed.  As 
Christian  civilization  views  it,  a  holier  period  in  time  has 
been  reached.  We  pass  on  within  the  shadow  of  a  building 
containing  a  sanctuary.  The  words  of  the  song  that  floated 
from  the  attic  window  are  still  remembered,  and  the  rambler 
pauses  to  wonder  if  in  that  sanctuary,  or  in  any  sanctuary  in 
this  city,  would  be  preached  during  the  Sabbath  a  Gospel 
more  cheering. 


1 6  Under  the   Gas- Light. 


RAMBLE    III 

|  HE  streets  are  crowded.  It  is  the  Saturday  evening 
before  the  election,  and  many  men  are  exhibiting  their 
interest.  A  large  number  are  full  of  fire,  and  therefore 
unbalanced.  They  congregrate  in  mobs  and  assume  to  ex- 
pound economic  principles;  but  the  expounding  soon  merges 
into  an  incoherency,  and  in  many  instances  the  incoherency 
into  an  inextricable  blindness.  Now  we  hear  a  story,  now  an 
insinuation,  and  then  an  imputation.  To  believe  them  all 
would  be  to  believe  the  worst  possible  things,  and  to  have 
one's  faith  in  humanity  reduced  to  a  slender  thread.  The 
gin-mills,  the  fountains  of  modern  political  inspiration,  are 
running  at  full  blast,  and  the  inveterate  bummers  and  dead- 
beats  are  clinging  to  candidates  like  Christian  faith  clings  to 
the  hope  of  immortality.  The  scene  repulses  the  senses  and 
sickens  the  heart,  causing  the  sober,  reflective  citizen  to 
weaken  in  his  admiration  for  the  elective  system  in  the  ma- 
chinery of  republican  government.  Men  are  drunk  to-night 
who  for  many  a  day  have  stood  aloof,  and  from  under  the  gas- 
lights we  hear  this  expression:  ."Well,  boys,  here  goes, 
election  times  are  not  always  with  us."  The  reflection  was, 


Under  the   Gas- Light.  1*7 

that  if  these  times  could  not  come  and  pass  without  being  made 
periods  of  beastliness,  and  without  being  embraced  as  oppor- 
tunities for  wasting  the  best  substance  of  human  life,  then  it 
would  be  better  if  they  would  never  come.  It  points  to  no 
purity  in  government,  and  tells  of  no  condition,  redeeming  in 
character,  in  the  preliminary  workings  of  our  political  system. 
But  enough  of  this.  We  will  pass. 

We  hear  a  voice  in  Reform   Club   Hall.      Ascending   the 
stairway  we  behold  a    man    standing,  in   the   attitude   of  a 
speaker,  on  the  platform.     He  speaks  words  of  cheering  im- 
port.     They  are  the  words  of  kindness,  and  they  flow   with 
an  impetuous  force,  as  the  language  of  the  heart  always  flows. 
"O,  friend!  strong  in   wealth  for  so   much   good,   take   my 
counsel.     In  the  name  of  the  Saviour  I  charge  you  to  be  true 
and  tender  to  mankind."     He  would  have  all  men  come    out 
from  Babylon  into  manhood,  and  love  and  labor  for  the  fallen, 
the  neglected,  the  suffering,  and  the  poor.     He  would  bid  the 
lover  of  arts,  customs,  laws,  institutions  and  forms  of  society, 
love  those  things  only  as   they    help   mankind,   and   despise 
them  when  they  cause  a  flowing  of  tears  and  a   bleeding   of 
the  soul.     He  would  draw  men  to  him  and  not  repulse  them; 
he   would    make    friends    and    not   enemies;    would    soften 
the  human  heart  instead  of  steeling  it  against  the    mollifying 
influence  of  agencies,  pure  and  saving   in  all    their   essential 
forces.     He  tells  us  that  he  is  a  hater  of  evil,  but  not  a   hater 
of  men;  that  he  is  unfriendly  to    instrumentalities   that    lead 


1 8  Under  the   Gas-Light. 

into  thorny  paths,  but  friendly  to  the  humanity  that 
suffers  thereby.  He  would  battle  temptation,  but  pause  to 
sympathize  with,  and  to  help  the  tempted,  pointing  him  away 
to  a  place,  and  a  condition,  where  the  eye  never  sees,  the  ear 
never  hears,  the  mind  never  knows,  and  the  heart  never  feels 
the  form  or  voice,  the  thought  or  sense  of  any  temptation. 
Ere  the  rambler  passed  out  into  the  open  air  his  thought  was 
that  it  was  a  grand  thing  for  man  to  be  able  to  understand 
man,  and  to  adjust  himself  for  a  given  time  in  another's  place 
— to  stand  as  he  stood,  and  feel  as  he  felt.  When  judging  a 
friend  or  a  brother  it  is  a  very  good  rule  not  to  look  simply 
on  one  side.  In  the  jostling  headlong  race  of  life  man  is- 
liable  to  be  selfish  in  his  views  and  judgments.  We  do  not 
always  know  how  much  this  one  or  that  one  has  "struggled, 
and  fought,  and  striven;"  how  much  this  man  or  that  man 
was  tempted  and  tried,  ere  he  was  forced  to  embrace  the 
wrong  that  he  did. 

"There's  many  a  man  crushed  down  by  shame, 

Who  blameless  stands  before  God, 
But  whom  his  fellows  have  utterly  scorned, 

And  made  to  "pass  under  the  rod;" 
Whose  soul  is  unstained  by  the  thought  of  sin. 

Who  will  yet  find  saving  grace, 
And  who  would  be  praised  where  you  now  condemn, 

If  you  would  "put  yourself  in  his  place." 

The  closing  day  has  been  "All  Souls  Day,"  as  indicated  by 
the  command  of  an  ancient  church.  Prayers  have  been  offer- 
ed for  the  alleviation  of  restless  souls,  and  for  their  redemp- 
tion from  thralldom.  There  has  been  a  looking  away  into 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  19 

the  realms  of  a  spiritual  existence.  Contemplating  the  faith 
that  penetrates  the  darkness,  and  grasps  the  conditions  beyond 
the  veil,  the  rambler  is  lost  in  the  traditional  mysteries.  Round 
about  he  is  told  that  there  are  restless  souls.  Going  his  way 
he  meets  those  in  thralldom,  fit  subjects  for  redemption. 
Who  prays  for  their  alleviation  to-night?  It  may  be  a  mother, 
a  wife,  or  a  sister,  who  comprehend  not  the  established  teach- 
ing which  comes  up  from  the  eighth  century.  "All  Soul's 
Day"  sounds  well.  There  is  so  much  soul  about  it,  is  the 
reason.  Everything  that  tells  of  the  soul,  or  even  alludes  to 
the  soul,  calls  for  man's  attention.  Yonder  sits  a  tramp  on 
the  Court  Park  curbing.  Has  the  day  just  passed  been  to 
him  a  soul  day  ?  Wonder  if  he  went  about  during  the  day  to 
say,  as  did  the  village  children  during  the  middle  ages: 

"Pray,  good  mistress,  for  a  soul  cake." 

He  may  have  gone  about  seeking  food,  but  whether  he  ob- 
tained any  "soul  cake"  is  questionable.  Upon  these  points 
the  rambler  cares  not  to  interrogate  him.  To  all  appearance 
his  history  is  a'  sealed  scroll,  and  what  is  contained  therein  is 
his  own.  He  has  a  soul,  and  the  indications  are  that  it  has  suf- 
fered. He  may  have  been  repulsed  from  his  home — a  home 
in  which  was  taught  an  iron-hooped  theology.  Hismother, 
good  and  true,  may  have  gone  to  heaven  years  ago.  Ser- 
mons may  have  been  preached  to  him  from  the  words,  "The 
greatest  of  these  is  charity,"  and  which  was  never  made  prac- 


2o  Under  the   Gas-light. 

tical.  The  boy  may  have  wondered  and  doubted.  He  may 
have  met  with  struggles  and  temptations,  and  then  the  scorn 
of  the  world,  which  conditions  tended  to  the  desolation  of  the 
soul's  sanctuary.  And  now,  while  he  sits  there  within  the 
shadow  of  one  of  the  Park  trees,  and  while  the  moon's  soft 
beams  fall  through  the  over-hanging  branches,  he  may  be 
plotting  some  transgression  against  society,  from  which  he 
may  now  be  an  outcast;  and  who  knows  but  what  a  few 
"soul  cakes"  might  cause  him  to  cease  his  plotting,  and  to 
drop  his  hands,  which  may  forsooth  be  raised  against  what 
seems  to  him  to  be  an  exacting  society. 


Under  the  Gas-Light.  21 


RAMBLE    IV. 

JITHOUT  faith  in  humanity  there  could  be  no  such 
thing  as  faith  in  God;  no  such  thing  as  a  developed 
Christian  civilization,  and  no  such  thing  as  a  crowning 
glory  of  genius.  There  would  be  no  searching  for  heaven ;  no 
grasping  for  an  eternal  reward ;  and  no  struggling  to  attain  a 
mastery  and  knowledge  of  all  material  forces. 

Passing  under  an  all-night  gas-light  we  enter  a  narrow 
way.  There  are  bunks  ranged  about,  which,  here  and  there, 
are  occupied  by  men,  who  seem  to  have  unfortunately  drifted 
to  the  losing  side  of  the  battle  of  life.  For  convenience  sake 
we  will  call  this  place  "The  City's  Charity."  Though 
charity  is  counted  the  chiefest  of  virtues,  this  charity  is  not, 
by  a  large  degree,  the  chiefest  of  charities.  However,  it  af- 
fords a  shelter  and  preserves  life.  There  is  no  gas-light  here, 
for  that  has  some  how  or  other  been  decreed  a  luxury.  The 
dingy  stove,  and  battered  coal  bucket,  constitutes  the  furniture 
of  this  retreat.  A  man  rises  from  a  bunk  and  sits  upon  the 
outer  edge.  He  looks  contemplatively  into  the  low  burning 
fire.  There  is  something  about  the  man  that  attracts  the 
rambler's  attention.  His  ayes  show  a  brilliancy,  and  his  head 


22  Under  the   Gas-Light. 

the  marks  of  an  intellectuality.  He  speaks  little,  and  very 
slowly.  He  shows  that  he  has  a  memory,  and  that  it  is  full. 
Conversing  with  him  the  impression  obtains  that  he  has  been 
an  observer  of  things.  "My  friend,"  said  he,  "Want  is  a  bit- 
ter and  a  hateful  thing.  Its  virtues  are  not  understood ;  how- 
ever, a  condition  of  need  has  brought  to  a  full  perfection  many 
things,  which  could  not  have  been  done  under  other  circum- 
stances." Having  listened  to  these  words,  the  rambler  fancied 
that  he  saw  the  speaker  in  a  better  condition.  Sure  he  was 
that  a  scholar  spoke — a  man  who  had  been  cultured,  to  the 
better  realities  of  life.  For  a  moment  he  paused,  for  a  mo- 
ment he  gazed  at  the  old  unsightly  stove,  and  seemingly  un- 
conscious of  the  slow  struggling  fire  within.  He  then,  as  if 
in  retrospect,  quoted  from  Byron's  Childe  Harold: 

I  lave  I  not  suffered  things  to  be  forgiven  ? 

Have  I  not  had  my  brain  seared,  my  heart  riven, 
Hopes  sapp'd,  name  blighted,  life's  life  lied  away' 

And  only  not  to  desperation  driven 
Because  not  altogether  of  such  clay 

As  rots  into  the  souls  of  those  whom  I  sway? 

It  was  a  sad  sight.  There  was  a  man  who  deserved  a  bet- 
ter fate.  It  was  plain  that  he  had  seen  better  days,  that  he 
had  stood  in  the  sunshine,  that  he  had  held  up  his  head  to 
gaze  at  the  stars  in  the  heavens,  and  with  a  grasp  of  his  intel- 
lect had  conceived  what  many  of  his  fellows  could  not  compre- 
hend. "By  what  process  have  you  reached  a  place  like  this?" 
asks  the  rambler.  There  was  a  painful  silence  for  a  few  mo- 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  23 

meats,  and  then  the  man  responded:  "It  would  take  hours 
to  tell  you,  but  may  it  be  sufficient  to  say  that  the  starting 
point  was  when  I  began  to  abuse  my  manhood,  and  neglected 
to  cherish  my  opportunities.  I  might  say  that  on  many  an 
occasion  man  has  passed  by  on  the  other  side,  and  then  I 
might  add  that  I  was  first  harsh  to  myself,  and  gave  man  a 
reason  for  "passing  by  on  the  other  side." 

This  character  is  not  the  only  one  which  the  rambler  comes 
in  contact  with  in  this  place.  There  are  others  here,  and  each 
with  a  history.  There  sits  a  young  man  who  appears  not  to 
have  reached  his  majority.  His  clothes  are  rent  in  many  places, 
and  generally  his  appearance  is  uninviting.  He  wasn't  com- 
municative, but  enough  was  obtained  for  the  basis  of  a  con- 
clusion that  he  was  a  prodigal;  and  that  he  was  feeding  upon 
the  husks  was  plainly  evident.  He  had  ventured  out  to  see 
the  world,  to  investigate  its  ways,  and  to  find  a  better  condi- 
tion than  he  fancied  he  had  previously  enjoyed.  It  was  clear 
that  he  had  found  the  ways  of  the  world,  and  found  them 
rougher  than  he  had  anticipated,  and  that  he  had  not  reached 
that  better  condition  which  he  had  hoped  for.  His  inclina- 
tion was  to  turn  back  and  go  to  his  father's  house.  A  fatted 
calf  seemed  to  be  his  want.  It  was  his  need,  and  would  claim 
his  attention  more  closely  than  would  a  disquisition  on  causes 
and  effects,  or  a  sermon  on  the  "Gospel  plan  of  salvation." 
To  him  "a  prayer  without  some  meat  and  corn"  would  be 
as  virtueless  for  good  as  would  a  morning  vapor  be  powerless 


24  Under  the   Gas-L,ight. 

to  float  an  ocean  steamer.  Upon  the  floor  was  observed  a 
few  tracts,  dropped  by  some  good  man  possessed  of  a  good 
heart.  It  was  the  preparing  of  the  way  to  the  life  to  come 
the  indexes  pointing  "tramps"  to  a  tramping  along  the  golden 
streets  of  the  New  Jerusalem.  It  is  well  for  these  men's  at- 
tention to  be  thus  directed,  but  what  concerns  them  most  now 
was  about  the  earthly  way,  and  how  the  most  successfully  to 
tramp  the  muddy  streets  of  the  planet  earth. 

The  rambler  has  been  in  the  city's  charity  hall  long  enough. 
He  seeks  a  change  and  finds  it.  The  contrast  is  wide.  He 
now  sees  a  little  three-year  old  girl  dressed  in  white.  It  is 
prettier  than  the  brightest  star  that  blazes  in  the  heavens,  be- 
cause it  is  near  the  heart.  It  is  as  pretty  as  the  prettiest  an,gel 
that  ever  moved  through  the  atmosphere  of  immortal  exist- 
ence, because  its  ministrations  reach  living  souls.  It  is  the 
beauty  of  childhood,  of  innocence,  and  of  truth,  and  the  heav- 
ens can  produce  no  better  beauty. 


Under  the  Gas-Light.  25 


RAMBLE    V  . 

'HlXPERIENCE  tells  every  man  that  association  tends  to 
make  stronger  and  deeper  our  emotion  for  the  beautiful. 
There  has  just  passed  a  man  under  the  glare  of  the  gas- 
light, who,  in  his  youth,  ere  he  crossed  the  home  threshold 
to  go  out  in  the  world,  to  be  a  straggler  in  its  conflicts,  gazed 
upon  a  mother's  miniature  and  thought  it  beautiful.  He 
passed  out  a  wanderer;  he  battled  and  struggled  for  years;  he 
attained  the  strength  of  manhood,  and  combining  his  forces, 
gained  a  victory.  Pausing,  he  looks  again  upon  the  min- 
iature. How  emotions  swell.  That  one  who  never  wearied 
in  caring  for  him,  and  who  never  faltered  in  her  ministry  of 
love  and  faith,  now  seems  divinely  beautiful.  He  drops  a  tear; 
and  while  the  gas-lights  continue  to  blaze  their  light  for  the 
feet  of  the  passing  throng,  memory's  gallery  is  open,  and 
through  its  avenues  our  wanderer  moves,  with  throbbing 
heart  and  softened  tread,  as  he  beholds  the  beautiful  pictures 
which  are  hung  there,  of  mother  and  home,  with  their  happy 
light,  guiding  his  footsteps  down  life's  winding  way.  In  this 
man  we  see  that  which  is  noble,  pleasing  and  beautiful. 


26  Under  the   Gas-Light. 

It  is  yet  early  in  the  evening.  The  streets  are  crowded 
with  a  miscellaneous  collection  of  the  population.  Standing 
upon  the  corner  one  sees  much  that  is  beautiful,  and  much 
that  is  repulsive.  The  tempters,  who  are  passing  to  and  fro, 
would  make  a  host  if  congregated.  Here  and  there  men 
stand  to  make  unseemly  comments  pertaining  to  their  pres- 
ence. Better  than  they  are  the  frail  sisters,  but  the  world,  in 
its  false  vision,  concedes  it  not.  This  city's  best(?)  society 
pets  many  a  viper,  and,  like  a  relentless  fury,  crowds  into  hell 
their  victims.  This  is  not  noble — it  is  not  beautiful.  Christ 
in  his  earthly  mission  would  not  tolerate  a  practice  so  wither- 
ing— so  hurtful.  He  watered  where  watering  was  needed, 
and  calling  for  the  golden  of  trust  would  not,  by  His  will,  per- 
mit a  single  human  soul  to  famish.  It  is  sure  He  would  not 
drive  a  soiled  existence  quivering  to  the  prey  of  the  favorites 
of  a  society  that  cherishes  shoddy  conditions,  and  exhibits  a 
coldness  towards  the  unfortunates  who  are  passing  under  the 
rod.  The  Christly  way  is  the  way  along  which  love's  sooth- 
ing dews  are  permitted  to  fall,  to  quicken  to  life  the  plants 
upon  which,  in  other  days,  had  bloomed  the  fragrance  and 
innocence  of  beauty. 

Did  we  but  know  the  causes  which  have  so  many  times 
led  virtue  to  sin,  and  made  innocence  a  barren  waste,  we 
would  know  more  than  we  ever  dreamed  of  knowing.  Many 
bright  eys  grow  dim,  and  we  know  not  the  agency  that  rob- 
bed them  of  their  ligfht.  Man  v  soft  and  rosy  cheeks  grow 


Under  the   Gas- Light.  27 

pale,  and  the  wonder  is  from  whence  came  the  blight.  In 
the  temples  of  humanity's  best  hopes  comes  a  frailty,  and 
then  a  fading.  Why  it  is,  we  are  not  permitted  to  know,  and 
maybe  'tis  well.  When  the  dove  is  wounded  it  clasps  its 
wings  to  hide  its  bleeding.  The  sighs  that  come  from  its 
heart  are  breathed  in  solitude  and  silence.  There  is  but  little 
upon  which  to  base  a  judgment  concerning  the  character  of 
the  wound.  However,  conclusions  are  drawn,  and  they  carry 
with  them,  too  often,  the  opposite  of  healing. 

"Did  you  see  them  turn  around  the  corner?"  was  a  question 
asked  the  rambler.  "Yes,"  was  the  reply;  and  turning  that 
corner  means  the  passing  into  a  locality  where  hearts  are  fam- 
ishing and  souls  perishing,  and  where  is  going  to  decay,  tem- 
ples of  God's  own  building.  Those  who  had  just  turned  the 
corner  were  young  men — the  children  of  fortune.  Under  the 
wings  of  the  night — the  covers  of  many  a  sin — and  by  the 
blinding  glare  of  the  gas-light  they  had  gone  their  way  for  a 
revel,  and  for  a  dance,  with  those  whose  hearts  had  not  been 
nurtured  as  they  had  craved  to  be.  These  young  men  had,  a 
while  before,  been  seen  in  the  presence  of  beauty  and  of  vir- 
tue. They  had  courted  respect,  and  had  obtained  it;  they 
wanted  the  smiles  of  virtue,  and  the  benefit  of  the  fragrance 
that  comes  from  hearts,  that  gather  well  and  wisely,  from  the 
gardens  of  God's  own  planting,  and  all  these  they  had  secur- 
ed. They  bowed  themselves  out,  leaving  the  impression  that 
they  were  models  of  young  manhood's  glory,  and  that  they 


28  Under  the   Gas-light. 

possessed  as  much  virtue  within  as  they  exhibited  without. 
They  were  seen  later,  and  with  the  tempter's  coil  wound 
about  them.  The  scene  was  a  sad  one.  Good  mothers,  good 
sisters,  and  good  friends,  dreamed  not  of  their  plight.  "Where 
ignorance  is  bliss,  'tis  folly  to  be  wise,"  but  the  knowledge 
will  come  by  and  by,  and  with  it  tears  and  sorrow,  and  a  deso- 
lation of  the  soul's  sanctuary. 


Under  the  Gas-Light.  29 


RAMBLE    VI. 


JjE  enter  a  dark  way  from  under  the  gas-light;  pass  from 
the  localities  of  the  rich  and  opulent.  The  surround- 
ings tell  of  no  heart  song,  and  of  no  soul  growing.  A 
feeble  voice  is  heard,  giving  out  a  music  that  is  tremulous,  re- 
minding the  rambler  of  some  ancient  hai-p,  which  once  breath- 
ed a  strong  and  clear  melody,  but  whose  loosened  strings  now 
reveal  only  plaintive  quiverings.  There  has  faded  away  the 
fair  morning,  with  its  rose-tinted  hours,  which  bore  upon 
its  bosom  the  dew  and  freshness  of  childhood.  When  most 
real  and  most  earnest  was  life  there  came  a  blight.  When 
heart  beat  highest  and  warmest  the  golden  power  of  trust  was 
riven.  High  built  plans  and  purposes  fell.  The  faithful 
strivings  for  self,  for  man  and  for  God,  fled.  The  power  of 
evil  had  done  its  work,  and  left  a  heart  blasted  with  the  poi- 
son of  impurity,  alone  in  the  gathering  darkness,  without  an 
earthly  friend,  shut  out  from  the  ministry  of  love,  and  barred 
from  the  ways  of  redemption. 

To  the  rambler  she  said :  "I  was  never  trusted,  was  always 
placed  in  the  attitude  of  one  whose  honor  was    in  defence. 


30  Under  the   Gas-Light. 

My  life  took  an  early  chill ;  it  was  never  led  by  songs  of  love ; 
ill  winds  blew  across  my  path;  my  father  watched  me  as  if  I 
was  a  being  without  a  soul ;  my  heart  wanted  a  feeding,  but 
it  was  never  fed.  Had  I  been  trusted  I  might  not  have  stray- 
ed into  the  cruel,  thorny  path  of  sin.  I  was  held  by  an 
iron  band  away  from  my  heart's  best  desires,  and  was,  instead, 
watched  through  summer  bowers." 

From  this  scene  of  evil  blight,  and  of  perishing,  the  rambler 
passes  to  a  more  hopeful  one.  He  enters  a  humble  cottage 
around  which  floods  a  light.  It  was  not  his  first  advent  there. 
The  surroundings  were  not  unfamiliar.  It  was  a  retreat 
which  he  had  sought  on  many  a  former  occasion,  and  where 
he  had  found  a  joy,  a  peace,  and  a  faith  he  could  find  nowhere 
else  among  the  habitations  of  men.  Evidence  of  a  visitation 
to  that  cottage  was  apparent — a  visitation  from  the  skies,  a 
coming  from  the  heart  of  the  heavens — from  the  paradise  of 
divinity,  of  love  and  trust.  It  is  a  freshling  of  creation,  with 
a  soul,  breathed  from  the'  inward  temble  of  the  Infinite.  To 
the  rambler's  ears  there  comes  an  infant's  voice,  a  voice  not 
heard  before  among  the  children  of  men.  What  tidings  does 
it  bring,  and  upon  what  mission  does  it  come?  Those  who 
have  developed  into  a  mature '  and  vitalized  manhood  would 
love  to  know,  but  are  not  permitted.  It  was  Charles  Lamb 
who  rushed  across  a  London  street  and  grasped  an  infant, 
held  in  a  mother's  arms,  and  shaking  it,  cried :  "O !  little  one, 
tell  me  of  heaven."  At  this  moment  there  are  those  who 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  31 

would  do  likewise,  would  ask  the  infant  about  heaven,  about 
God,  about  the  angels,  and  about  the  beauty  and  fragrance  of 
the  flowers  that  bud  and  blossom  along  the  golden  streets  of 
that  heaven,  out  from  which  it  passed  for  a  home  on  the 
earth. 

Out  on  the  still,  chill  air  is  heard  the  solemn,  thrilling  notes 
of  the  town  clock,  telling  not  of  sorrow  and  neither  of  peace, 
but  of  the  ending  of  the  night  and  the  beginning  of  the  morn- 
ing, of  rest  receding  and  the  duties  of  another  day  approach- 
ing. When  will  rest  cease  to  recede  and  the  hours  of  toil 
cease  their  coming?  was  a  question  suggested  to  the  rambler 
as  he  passed  out  under  the  moonlight.  The  answer  came: 
"not  until  the  last  battle  is  fought,  and  the  last  triumph  gain- 
ed, will  rest  cease  to  do  its  soothing  work,  and  toil  cease  to  be 
toil."  The  only  gas-light  blazing  now  is  at  police  headquarters. 
Pausing  here  is  to  see  much  of  human  frailty,  and  to  have 
brought  to  one's  attention  much  of  human  bleeding,  caused 
by  the  piercing  thorns  along  the  pathway  of  many  a  life.  A 
woman  at  the  hour  of  one  o'clock  conies  to  tell  the  story  of 
man's  inhumanity,  of  his  viciousness,  and  of  his  transformation 
into  a  devil.  She  had  been  compelled  to  abandon  her  home. 
The  husband,  who,  in  a  better  period  of  his  life,  had  vowed  a 
fealty,  had  upon  this  night  whipped  his  wife.  The  very  air 
breathed  invective,  and  seemed  to  invoke  a  visitation  upon 
that  man  of  the  vengeful  scorpions  of  wrath.  An  officer 
speaks:  "O,  its  no  use.  As  has  been  the  case  heretofore,  she 


32  •   Under  the   Gas-Light. 

wont  appear  against  him."  When  he  was  sober  she  couldn't, 
and  wouldn't  stand  before  him  in  the  attitude  of  a  prosecutor. 
There  was  a  fidelity  that  would  not  break,  a  devotion  that 
failed  not,  and  a  hope  that  would  not  perish ;  yet  if  that 
woman  had  done  the  least  fraction  of  what  her  husband  had 
done,  she  would  have  seen  no  fidelity,  and  no  devotion  like 
unto  her's,  shown  to  call  her  back  into  life's  peaceful  ways. 
She  would  have  been  driven  out  into  the  street,  without  a  light, 
without  a  guide.  The  crown  of  stars  for  womanhood  would 
have  been  for  her  turned  into  a  crown  of  thorns.  The  man 
the  following  day  comes  upon  the  street  and  is  greeted  by 
friends,  who  say  he  is  a  good  fellow,  a  clever  man.  Thus 
day  after  day  men  are  credited  with  qualities  they  possess  not. 
The  qualities  they  do  possess,  the  fiery  viper  in  its  liquid  form 
brings  out  when  in  the  presence  of  the  defenseless.  In  the 
midst  of  strength  and  power  their  qualities  are  nursed  into  a 
quietness.  In  fine  they  are  a  legion  of  cowards  and  never 
take  risks. 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  33 


RAMBLE    VII. 


JjORE  and  more,  as  the  years  go  by  upon  their  wings  of 
joy  and  sorrow,  do  we  realize  that  from  life's  humblest 

\j  walks  come  the  brightest  rays  of  heart  sunshine.  In 
the  cottage  there  is  not  as  many  burnings  as  in  the  palace, 
and  not  as  much  heart  bleeding.  In  the  one  there  glows  into 
beauty  the  gems  of  gratitude,  but  in  the  other  selfishness 
chokes  gratitude  to  an  untimely  death.  Just  now  a  youth 
strolls  leisurely  along  with  his  companion.  Their  intellectual 
trade  marks  indicate  a  mediocrity.  The  Jove-like  signs  of 
mentality  are  not  prominent.  One  says  "O,  it  was  very  se- 
lect." "Select  of  what?"  was  the  question  that  naturally  in- 
truded. "A  select  thanksgiving  party."  Was  God  there? 
Were  there  any  soul  windows,  with  a  bright  redeeming  light, 
streaming  through,  seen  on  either  side?  Or  was  the  select 
thanksgiving  party  a  party  returning  its  thanks  over  a  few 
cans  of  select  oysters?  Selections  are  to  be  desired  if  they 
are  good,  and  contain  qualities  that  exist  within  as  well  as 
without.  A  select  company,  selected  from  a  brain  and  heart 
-tand  point,  a  company  that  can  see  a  soul  through  the  rough, 


34  Under  the   Gas-Light. 

and  a  brain  whenever  it  develops,  is  a  grand  company,  and 
we  are  glad  that  in  the  city  of  the  Emancipator  such  compa- 
nies hold  communion.  But  how  true  it  is  that  with  many  of 
these  modern  "selections,"  a  grandly  magnificent  thought 
would  be  a  stranger.  To  entertain  it,  many  belonging  there- 
to, would  be  compelled  to  have  clipped  their  feeble  wings  of 
surface  drapery. 

Lay  down  the  proposition  that  mind  acts  from  reason,  and 
matter  from  cause,  and  you  would  be  presented  with  a  multi- 
plicity of  confused  expressions.  Propound  the  question, 
What  is  the  proper  business  of  the  intellect?  and  there  will 
follow  an  incoherency.  In  the  humble  cottages  grandly  mag- 
nificent thoughts  are  not  always  strangers.  On  the  line  of 
mental  vision  those  who  are  select  are  those  who  can  give  the 
light,  no  matter  how  good  or  bad  may  be  the  clothes  they 
wear.  The  philosopher's  lamp  burned  dimly  in  his  chamber 
while  the  select  company  danced  in  the  presence  of  the  king. 
The  philosopher  threw  into  the  worV  a  light  that  has  illumi- 
nated the  centuries.  The  select  company,  who,  in  splendid 
array,  danced  in  the  courtly  presence,  and  felt  themselves 
honored,  left  no  footprints  as  guides  to  the  race;  contributed 
nothing  toward  showing  the  extent  of  intellectual  develop- 
ment in  their  period  of  life,  and  died  as  they  had  lived,  with- 
out an  aim,  and  without  a  purpose.  Standing  at  a  distance, 
there  are  many  pictures  seen  that  look  well  and  please  the  eye. 
A  closer  inspection  reveals  defects. 


Under  the   Gas-J^ight.  35 

"All  that  glitters  is  not  gold; 
Gilded  tombs  do  worms  unfold." 

In  many  a  circle  of  modern  society  is  seen  a  brilliant  glitter, 
and  behind  it  all  are  hearts  as  cold  as  a  polar  wave,  and  as 
pulseless  for  humanity  as  the  beaten  rock  beneath  the  ram- 
bler's feet.  They  never  reach  out  for  a  generous  thought, 
never  reach  down  to  lift  up  a  prostrate  form,  and  never  ram- 
ble upon  missions  of  mercy,  never  discover  that 

"The  gloomy  outside,  like  a  rusty  chest, 
Contains  the  shining  treasure  of  a  soul 
Resolved  and  brave." 

They  never  once  seem  to  realize  the  truth  that  "the  deep- 
est ice  that  ever  froze  can  only  o'er  the  surface  close."  Be- 
neath floats  a  current  unchecked.  Its  force  is  a  silent  one, 
and  the  world  is  fast  coming  to  learn  that  these  silent  forces 
are  the  forces  that  are  moving .  the  nations.  Therefore,  it  is 
well  to  respect  the  surface  conditions  when  it  is  known  that 
beneath  exists  the  great  propelling  powers  around  which  ai'e  as- 
pirations that  grasp  the  heavens,  and  expectations  that  reach 
the  lines  of  eternal  verities.  Down  a  given  street  walks  a 
man  quietly.  Occasionly,  as  he  passes  within  the  gas-light, 
he  bows  to  a  friend.  He  is  a  poor  man  and  commonly  clad. 
He  is  not  bothered  with  stocks,  coupons  and  deeds,  and  is 
never  absorbed  with  the  excitements  incident  to  the  rise  and 
fall  of  securities.  Approaching,  he  hails  the  rambler  and  asks: 
"My  friend,  isn't  the  sky  beautiful  to-night?"  The  question 
suggested  a  looking  away  from  amid  the  adverse  gales  of 


36  Lnder  the   Gas-Light. 

mortal  existence.  Though  the  moon  was  not  full  orbed,  the 
sky  was  beautiful;  its  face  bore  no  trace  of  weariness,  and  let 
fall  no  tears  of  sorrow. 

Our  friend  had  been  in  the  chamber  of  grief,  had  seen  tears 
ebb  and  flow,  and  innocence  pleading  for  comfort.  There  had 
been  a  passage  between  the  stars;  an  angel  had  led  the  way, 
and  coming  to  the  temple  of  his  affections  had  taken  a  treas- 
ure and  borne  it  above;  and  this  is  why  he  had  raised  his 
head  to  look  that  way,  and  to  admire  the  beauty  of  the  heav- 
ens. Could  this  man  look  up,  and,  surveying  the  starry  re- 
gions, feel  surging  through  his  soul  a  spirit  of  thankfulness,  as 
he  remembered  that  during  the  year  had  been  torn  from  his 
life  a  budding  fragrance  that  was  making  bright  and  happv 
his  existence?  We  simply  wonder,  if  in  his  humanity  he 
could  so  triumph.  We  fancied  that  when  he  looked  at  the 
sky  and  its  glitter  of  stars,  his  thoughts  dwelt  more  upon  the 
affectionate  interest  he  had  in  the  heavens  than  upon  the  ma- 
jesty of  that  being  who  created  them.  And  for  this  who 
would  chide  him,  when  it  is  remembered  that  God  made  his 
soul,  and  made  it  to  throb  with  love. 


Under  the  Gas-Light.  37 


RAMBLE    VIII. 

"All  the  world's  a  stage, 

And  all  the  men  and  women  are  merely  players; 
They  have  their  exits  and  their  entrances ; 
And  one  man  in  his  time  plays  many  parts, 
His  acts  being  seven  ages." 

I  I  HE  seven  ages,  or  stages,  are  seen  to-night,  ranging  from 
'  ?""  infancy  to  second  childhood.  On  and  on  goes  the  play. 
|  fj  The  castes  of  character  are  varied.  The  streets  are  full  of 
life.  There  is  music  in  the  air,  discordant  though  it  may  be. 
There  is  a  joy  upon  the  road,  but  a  shivering  pain  down  the 
by-way.  On  the  highway  is  a  bounding  life,  but  aside  a  little 
way  is  a  cheerless  condition.  The  windows  glisten  under  the 
sheen  of  the  gas-light.  We  hear  the  sleigh-bells  ring.  The 
north  wind  blows  cold.  The  furs  and  robes  are  heaped  about. 
The  midnight  hour  comes.  The  sleighs  drop  far  apart.  The 
words  of  those  within  are  soft  and  slow,  and  thus  the  game 
of  life  goes  on,  either  to  lose  or  to  win,  to  rise  or  to  fall.  To- 
night, as  we  struggle  to  maintain  our  position  upon  the  smooth 
surface  beneath  our  feet,  much  of  sham,  artifice,  conceit  and 
hypocrisy  are  seen.  Here  and  there  is  beheld  that  which  is 
natural,  modest,  frank  and  real.  It  is  the  outgrowth  of  a 


38  Under  the   Gas-Light. 

right  conception  of  God;  the  fruit  of  a  teaching  that  tells 
man  that  his  duty  embraces  that  which  is  the  opposite  of 
harshness,  and  that  his  conception  of  eternity  should  not  be 
such  as  to  make  him  a  coward  and  a  hypocrite. 

A  cynic  stands  upon  a  corner  watching  the  play.  He  has 
reached  the  shady  side  of  life.  He  is  given  to  moods  of  ab- 
straction, and  at  this  time  is  caustic  but  philosophic.  Says  he : 
"My  friend,  I  believe  I  have  some  respectable  principles;  at 
any  rate  I  have  never  meddled  in  any  marriage  or  scandal.  I 
have  never  recommended  a  cook  or  a  physician,  and  conse- 
quently have  never  attempted  the  life  of  any  one."  "Then," 
interposed  the  rambler,  "it  may  be  safe  to  say  you  never  en- 
gaged in  journalism."  "No,  sir,  never,"  was  the  quick  reply. 
"Have  you  any  likes?"  ventured  the  rambler.  "Very  few,  I 
assure  you,"  was  the  response,  and  continuing,  said :  "My  dis- 
likes are  in  the  majority.  I  have  a  dislike  for  sots,  fops,  and 
intriguing  women  who  make  a  game  of  virtue.  I  have  a  dis- 
gust for  affectation.  I  have  a  pity  for  made-up  men  and  wo- 
men. I  have  an  aversion  to  rats,  liquors,  metaphysics,  and 
rhubarb,  and  this  continual  changing  of  school  books,  and 
have  always  had  a  terror  for  modern  justice  and  wild  beasts." 

The  rambler  thinks  this  is  not  bad.  A  little  hating  now 
and  then  is  a  good  thing,  in  fact  it  is  essential.  We  are  aware 
that  there  is  a  class  of  people  in  the  world  who  preach  univer- 
sal love  for  everybody  and  everything.  All  great  reformers 
have  been  more  or  less  great  haters.  The  hearty  detestation  of 


Under  the  Gas-Light.  39 

John  Knox  had  a  potential  influence.  In  the  infancy  of  this  re- 
public the  bitter  condemnations  that  found  utterance,  accom- 
plished more  for  freedom  and  democracy,  than  all  the  graceful 
ulogiums  could  have  done  in  a  thousand  years.  Walter  Scott, 
the  genius  of  good  nature,  never  could  have  aroused  a  nation 
up  to  revolution.  The  seals  of  injustice  cannot  be  broken  by 
gentle  nursing.  The  Shylocks  of  the  world,  laugh  at  water 
gruel  and  mock  at  man's  splendid  heroics.  Men  who  would  be 
masters  on  the  earth  must  steer  from  expediencies  and  cramp- 
ing policies,  must  deal  indignant  blows  against  manifest  evils. 

The  cynic  to  whom  we  allude  accords  with  these  views. 
There  is  a  sympathy  so  to  speak,  and  he  becomes  still  further 
communicative.  Says  he:  "I  am  like  the  French  count.  I 
was  taught  all  sorts  of  things,  and  learned  all  sorts  of  lan- 
guage. By  dint  of  impudence  and  quackery  I  sometimes  pass- 
ed for  a  savant.  I  await  death  without  fear,  and  without  impa- 
tience. My  life  has  been  a  bad  melodrama  on  a  grand  stage, 
and  I  have  played  the  hero,  the  tyrant,  the  lover,  the  noble- 
man, but  never  the  valet." 

That  is  to  say  he  had  been  a  man — a  proud  man.  He  had 
combined  his  soul  forces,  and  had  dropped  into  an  incisive 
analysis  of  men  and  things.  He  had  looked  through  surfaces 
into  debths,  and  therefrom  drawn  deductions.  He  had  no  use 
for  a  material  and  spiritual  thinness;  had  no  liking  for  mush, 
and  never  had  much  time  to  spend  with  the  striplings,  who 
lived  only  to  be  seen. 


40  '  Under  the   Gas-Light. 

This  man  possessed  a  strange  yet  forceful  character.  Upon 
the  world's  stage  he  had  appeared  in  many  scenes,  and  mark- 
ed and  energetic  in  all.  Soon  the  end  will  come,  when  he 
will  have  put  aside  his  armor  to  seek  a  repose  where  hypo- 
crisy, cant  and  seeming  will  not  comfront  him,  and  where  the 
soul  will  not  be  hidden. 


Under  the    Gas-Light.  41 


RAMBLE    IX. 


I  I  HERE  are  many  persons  in  the  world  of  a  cynicn1, 
'  gloomy  cast  of  mind,  who  are  wont  to  groan  over  the 
I  U  degeneracy  of  the  age.  Now  it  is  confined  to  one  thing 
and  at  another  time  to  something  else.  Standing  in  a  public 
place,  where  all  the  surroundings  show  a  bounding  activity, 
we  behold  a  monster  of  pungent  characteristics.  "That  is  a 
prompting  of  selfishness,"  was  a  sample  of  his  wording. 
"My  dear  sir,  do  I  address  a  pessimistic  theorist?"  interposed 
a  bystander.  The  reply  was  indirect.  "Will  you  buy  a  tick- 
et?" questioned  a  bright-eyed  maiden.  "It's  for  sweet  char- 
ity's sake,"  she  continued.  Our  cynical  theorist  began  at  once 
to  criticise  the  character  of  these  continuous  appeals.  The 
fair  pleader  interjected  a  few  words  and  was  gone:  "We  will 
know  more  about  it  later,"  was  the  utterance.  This  was  a 
reply  that  was  very  suggestive,  and  it  met  with  no  re- 
tort. There  seemed  to  be  no  bracing  up  against  its  influence. 
The  fact  was  plain  that  there  was  an  increase  of  philanthropic 
work  in  the  world,  which,  with  a  resistless  power,' was  being 
forced  upon  the  mind  and  into  the  soul.  Religious  people 


42  Under  the   Gas-Light. 

may,  if  they  will,  imagine  a  lack  of  spirituality,  and  skepti- 
cal scientists  may  tell  us  that  Christianity  is  dying  out,  but 
there  never  was  a  time  in  the  history  of  the  world  when  there 
was  more  blessing  flowing  from  as  many  unseen  sources  than 
there  is  to-day.  We  look  out  upon  the  night  and  behold  a 
ministration,  the  like  of  which  could  not  have  been  seen  a 
hundred  years  ago.  It  is  the  outflowing  of  a  creed  per- 
meated with  universal  love,  and  based  upon  elements  of  a 
broad  Catholicy,  and  from  under  the  gas-lights'  glare  the 
rambler  \:  wont  to  say  that  never  were  there  so  many  peo- 
on  the  earth  as  now,  who  could  be  called  "Blessed  of  the 
Father  and  heirs  of  the  kingdom  of  heaven." 

From  these  reflections  we  pass. 

The  Capitol  gas-lights  were  unusually  brilliant.  Beneath 
them  moved  an  anxious,  enthusiastic  concourse  of  people, 
Among  them  were  representative  men,  men  of  culture  and 
intellectual  force,  men  who  had  done  service  in  both  civil  and 
turbulent  fields.  The  caucus  door  was  slightly  ajar,  and 
through  the  opening  it  was  uttered,  "eighty  to  twenty-six". 
A  soldier  boy,  a  member  of  the  Tennessee  legion,  heard  the  an- 
nouncement and  yelled,  "ANOTHER  MARCH  TO  THE  SEA!" 
That  shout  called  up  the  memory  of  the  heroic  days  of  the 
republic,  when  courage  was  the  proud  trade-mark  of  man. 
Presently  there  was  a  gathering  under  a  medley  of  gas-lights. 
The  rambler  hears  a  voice.  It  comes  through  a  condition  of 
silence:  "Time  is  the  vindicator  of  man,  and  to-night  I  have 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  43 

been  vindicated."  In  this  world  of  cpnflict  and  battle,  of 
goodness  and  evil,  and  of  thorns  and  flowers,  it  is  pleasant  to 
realize  a  vindication,  and  a  satisfaction  to  know  that  reverses 
can  be  outlived.  A  pair  of  keen,  black  eyes  flash  with  mar- 
velous brilliancy;  not  as  roused  by  an  inward  passion,  but  by 
the  promptings  of  a  worthy  pride.  There  was  a  time  when 
those  eyes  exhibited  a  blackness  more  piercing  than  they 
ever  exhibited  before  or  since,  and  that  was  when  the  army 
courier  rode  to  his  side  in  North  Carolina  and  told  him  of  the 
assassination  of  Abraham  Lincoln.  At  that  hour  he  was 
the  strongest  and  most  restless  soldier  in  the  Republic.  Man 
never  saw  blacker  eyes  and  of  such  a  vigorous  flashing. 
Said  he  to  Sherman :  "Say  the  word  and  I  will  wipe  the 
rebel  army  in  our  front,  from  the  face  of  the  earth  in  three 
hours."  The  rambler  passes  to  another  scene.  Strong  men, 
men  of  public  station,  of  political  action,  and  of  political 
calculation,  are  hurrying  to  and  fro.  In  an  upper  parlor  is  a 
little  woman  with  a  head  covered  with  hair  that  is  silver-tint- 
ed. She  has  lived  an  active  life.  She  has  come  in  contact 
with  the  best  minds  of  the  earth.  She  is  strong-minded,  but 
not  in  the  common-parlance  sense,  for  in  all  these  latter  years 
of  the  Republic's  most  marked  and  eventful  history,  she  has 
clung  to  a  man  in  whom  she  has  ever  had  the  strongest  faith. 
In  his  conflicts  she  has  stood  by  his  side  with  a  zeal  that  was 
tireless,  and  with  a  confidence  that  was  as  firm  as  it  was 
beautiful.  Her  heart  is  as  strong  as  is  her  mind,  and  as  sue- 


44  Under  the   Gas-Light. 

cessful  in  producing  results.  She  knows  men,  and  compre- 
hends their  charactei'istics  with  a  remarkable  intelligence. 
Disorganized  forces  she  can  organize,  and  discordant  elements 
she  can  readily  mollify,  and  with  an  ease  of  grace  that  com- 
mands respect.  Under  the  parlor  gas-lights  these  qualities 
are  seldom  seen  in  a  developed  form.  There  are  but  few  wo- 
men who  can  meet  a  vigorous  commanding  manhood  in  the 
arena  of  political  conflict,  without,  at  least,  an  apparent  de- 
traction from  the  lofty  plane  where  woman  is  queen,  and 
where  her  influence  is  potent,  in  making  grand  the  inner  life, 
from  whence  comes  the  inspiration  that  gives  man  his  best 
resources  and  most  forceful  power.  The  wife  of  John  Adams 
had  such  a  power,  and  in  the  first  American  cabinets  she  con- 
centrated an  influence  which  the  nation  felt,  and  which  was 
crystalized  into  policies  which  propelled  the  republic  onward 
in  the  march  of  governmental  civilization.  Upon  the  night 
referred  to,  the  rambler  beheld  a  little  woman  who  possesses 
a  similar  power.  In  advance  of  time  she  had  been  a  vindica- 
tor of  the  man  in  whom  she  had  an  abiding  interest.  True, 
it  was  a  selfish  vindication,  but  none  the  less  commendable. 
"Eighty  to  twenty-six"  was  borne  to  her  ears,  and  a  happy 
smile  beamed  upon  a  face  modestly  traced  with  the  lines  of 
anxiety  and  care,  and  with  a  brightness  that  hid  those  lines 
from  the  casual  glance.  The  triumph  of  the  black-eved  citi- 
zen soldier  was  her  triumph,  and  his  honor  and  glory  was  her 
honor  and  glory,  and  all  the  strong  men  who  ranged  about 


Under  the  Gas-Light. 


45 


under  the  gas-lights  conceded  it,  and  further  that  she  was  one 
of  the  most  remarkable  women  of  the  century. 


46  Under  the   Gas-Light. 


RAMBLE    X. 

l|  did  n't  think  that  he  was  so  weak,"  was  an  utterance  heard 
'  /  in  the  midst  of  a  happy  throng.  The  man  had  said :  "My 
|  (j  children  will  read  your  names  and  say  they  are  our  fa- 
ther's friends."  And  over  his  cheeks  coursed  big  tears.  He 
could  say  no  more.  He  may  have  been  unnerved,  but  by  no 
law  of  human  ethics  could  the  conclusion  be  reached  that  he . 
was  unmanned.  Neither  was  it  an  evidence  of  weakness.  A 
man  may  conquer  his  soul,  and  drive  back  the  rising  emotions 
in  his  heart,  and  it  may  be  said  of  him,  he  is  a  man  of  strength, 
a  man  of  power,  and  a  man  of  nerve ;  but  in  the  world  of 
humanity  it  is  a  strength  that  fails  to  produce  good  results. 
It  is  the  exhibition  of  a  nerve  that  is  not  responsive  when 
touched  by  the  hand  of  need,  and  a  power  that  is  powerless 
to  supply  when  the  soul  is  hungering  and  thirsting  for  a  great 
good,  a  sweet  fragrance.  The  man  whose  eyes  are  never 
moistened  with  tears  may  be  termed  a  strong-minded  man, 
but  the  man  who  can  swell  from  his  heart  under  the  gas-light, 
in  the  midst  of  a  brilliant  throng,  is  a  strong-hearted  man — 
strong  in  all  the  elements  that  point  to  a  crowning  success. 
"I  am  a  man  and  will  not  shed  a  tear,"  is  the  language  of 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  47 

weakness.  It  is  to  assail  the  glitter  of  the  best  charm  of  life. 
It  is  to  discourage  the  best  impulses  of  the  soul.  It  is  to  chill 
the  worthy  aspirations  of  manhood  and  wreck  the  best  con- 
struction of  heart  and  soul.  "I  did  n't  think  he  was  so  weak," 
was  met  with  "I  did  n't  think  he  was  so  strong."  The  one 
speaker  conceived  the  strength  of  mind  to  be  the  whole  of 
man's  commanding  force ;  the  other  believed  that  the  heart  of 
man  in  its  best  condition  was  the  throne  of  an  agency  that  was 
paving  better  ways  and  grasping  sweeter  fruits.  Not,  how- 
ever, independent  of  mind,  but  in  conjunction  therewith.  The 
force  of  the  one  falls  short  without  the  force  of  the  other.  A 
tear  in  all  its  sentient  elements,  is  the  most  forceful  of  human 
agencies 

A  tear,  following  a  reference  to  the  idols  of  the  heart,  shows 
that  the  heart  is  big,  and  he  who  possesses  it  is  a  strong  man. 
In  the  arena  of  human  action  he  is  a  central  power,  a  magnet- 
ic influence,  giving  point  and  vigor  to  all  the  arteries  of  hu- 
man progress.  Lincoln  dropped  a  tear  at  Gettysburg,  which 
moved  the  nation  into  a  mastery  of  strength.  Such  examples 
of  impulsive  power  have  thrown  their  light  all  along  the 
path  of  the  ages.  Such  formations  from  the  seat  of  the  soul 
have  made  statesmen  strong  in  the  forum  and  cabinet,  and 
soldiers  powerful  in  campaign  and  battle.  The  affections 
yield  man  his  best  resources,  and  drawing  therefrom  he  makes 
himself  a  controling  power  among  men.  He  reaches  out 
and  grasps  conditions  of  disorganization  to  convert  them  into 


48  Under  the   Gas- Light. 

conditions  of  harmony.  The  scene  was  a  pleasant  one.  The 
swelling  of  the  soul  and  the  reference  to  the  loves  of  the 
heart  were  what  made  it  pleasant.  It  was  to  remind  those 
who  stood  about  the  room  that  the  tree  had  clinging  to  it 
tendrils,  and  that  about  it  were  being  nurtured  "buds  to  flow- 
ers." 

The  rambler  passes  out.  The  night  wind  chants  a  mourn- 
ful dirge  as  if  passing  humanity  was  keeping  step  to  a  time 
that  was  muffled.  "For  the  sake  of  Sangamon  county's  hon- 
or maintain  a  silence."  It  was  the  pleading  of  a  man  of 
pride,  the  pleading  of  a  man  having  a  knowledge  of  a  shaded 
life  and  a  crippled  manhood.  Having  a  respect  for  the  honor  - 
that  would  be  affected  if  silence  is  maintained,  the  curtains  are 
permitted  to  hang  suspended  with  no  fold  ajar. 

"He's  worth  a  half  million,"  is  an  utterance  made  by  an 
observer  near  by.  The  man  referred  to  was  recognized  as 
one  who  had  made  a  few  forward  steps  during  the  past  fif- 
teen years.  He  was  remembered  as  a  man  who,  years  ago 
came  to  the  capital,  but  not  as  he  comes  to-day.  Then  he 
was  ranked  with  the  common  herd,  to-day  his  presence  is 
courted  by  those  who  had  no  use  for  him  then.  Then  he  was 
poor,  now  he  is  rich.  He  had  no  influence  then  that  was 
commanding,  but  with  success  and  wealth,  that  has  been  add- 
ed. Aforetime  he  was  a  mechanic,  and  therefore  in  a  me- 
chanical way,  carved  out  his  fortune.  He  stepped'from  a  me- 
chanic to  a  legislator;  from  a  common  walk  to  the  walk  of  a 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  49 

solon.  It's  an  example  of  the  fruit  of  a  bounding  democracy. 
To-day  one  may  be  groping  along,  to-morrow  he  may  be  a 
forceful  power.  To-day  one  may  be  mingling  with  inordin- 
ate conditions;  to-morrow  he  may  be  crowding  the  stars,  and 
wishing  that  he  had  better  eyes  with  which  to  battle  their 
blinding  glare.  The  Hon.  John  Mulligan  has  toiled  faith- 
fully. He  observed  closely  passing  things.  He  struck  the 
rising  tide,  and  met  friendly  gales,  which  gave  him  nought 
but  a  cheerful  fanning.  If  he  floated  into  rough  waters  and 
among  breakers,  his  powers  were  such,  and  sufficient  to  save 
him  from  any  serious  disaster.  When  he  first  turned  the 
grindstone  to  sharpen  dull  tools,  he  did  it  well,  and  told  his 
fellows  that  his  business  was  to  turn  the  crank.  There  was 
no  terming  it  "a  circular  work."  He  contented  himself  with 
waiting  patiently  for  the  time  to  come  when  more  high- 
sounding  titles  would  be  his  right.  He  had  proper  sense  and 
using  it  to  advantage,  won  in  the  battle. 


50  -Under  the   Gas- Light. 


RAMBLE    XI. 


a  tear  here  and  another  sparkles  there.  Carry  sun- 
shine  to  a  home  on  tenth  street,  and  the  while  a  home 
5P--  on  first  street  is  being  mantled  with  gloom.  Plant  a 
flower  on  north  grand  avenue,  \vatered  well  with  the  dews 
of  the  inward  fountain,  and  while  it  is  growing  into  vigor  and. 
beauty,  a  thorn  is  peering  to  pierce  and  pain  on  south  grand 
avenue.  But  shall  there  be  a  cessation,  a  withholding  of 
ministrations,  when  around  about  us  in  palace  and  cottage, 
cruel  invasions  are  being  made,  and  the  hearts  of  the  fairest 
flowers  are  being  pierced.  "I  am  tired  of  this  work"  were  ill 
words  to  utter  while  beyond  so  many  thresholds  exists  so 
much  of  blight,  so  much  of  sorrow  —  so  much  of  that  which  is 
perishing  for  want  of  love  and  a  soul  benediction.  If  there  be 
a  withholding,  maybe  in  the  after  dawn,  the  flowers  that  have 
been  pierced  all  along  the  way  of  life  will  cry  out  reproach- 
fully: "Why  are  we  permitted  to  suffer?"  and  then  the  re- 
cord will  be  made,  and  the  upper  and  nether  stones  will  press 
and  grind  harshly. 

In  a  quiet  retreat,  in  from  the  surrounding  chill  borne  upon 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  ^  i 

the  moaning  wind,  the  rambler  comes  in  contact  with  a  teach- 
er and  a  child.  The  teaching  is  from  the  word  of  the  living 
God,  teaching  the  right  way  of  living,  practical  lessons  of  life; 
pointing  out  the  beautiful  and  the  unseemly,  the  noble  and  the 
ignoble  conditions  which  light  and  shade  the  earth.  It  is  the 
noblest  work  upon  which  mind  and  heart  was  ever  concen- 
trated. 

The  rambler  has  been  told  that  children  cannot  understand 
grave  questions  of  theology.  No  doubt  there  are  complex 
questions  of  Christian  ethics  upon  which  men  prate  and  wran- 
gle, and  which  moral  philosophers  and  religious  teachers  have 
for  eighteen  hundred  years  been  unable  to  settle,  which  little 
children  cannot  fathom,  and  'tis  well  that  they  cannot;  but 
there  are  matters  allied  to  theology  and  moral  teaching  which 
they  can  and  do  understand.  For  instance:  A  little  Sabbath 
school  girl  was  asked  what  faith  was?  Her  answer  was  this: 
"Doing  what  God  says  without  asking  any  questions."  The 
rambler  believes  that  there  has  never  lived  a  docter  of  divini- 
ty who  could  give  a  more  lucid  definition.  True,  this  may 
have  been  her  mother's  teaching;  but  it  was  a  teaching  that 
was  understood,  and  that  was  sufficient. 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  impressive  than  the  little 
girl's  reply  to  the  infidel,  who  had  promised  to  reward  her  if  she 
would  tell  him  where  God  was.  "Sir,  I  will  do  better  if  you 
will  tell  me  where  God  is  not." 

Bishop  Butler  might  have  run  off  into  a  learned  disquisition 


52  Under  the   Gas-LigJit. 

about  the  immensity  of  infinity,  and  entered  the  realms  of  na- 
ture with  a  mind  crowded  with  deductive  thought.  The  poet 
might  have  said: 

"God  moves  in  a  mysterious  way, 

His  wonders  to  perform; 
And  plants  his  footsteps  in  the  sea, 
.  And  rides  upon  the  storm." 

But  the  little  girl  beat  all  the  philosophers,  all  the  men  of 
learning  and  intellectual  force,  in  her  simple  reply,  "Tell  me 
where  God  is  not." 

A  little  girl  stood  by  a  flowery  heath  one  summer  day,  gaz- 
ing intently  upon  a  cluster  of  roses.  In  the  cluster  was  a 
flower  that  had  lived  its  time  and  was  dying.  Close  by  was" 
an  infant  flower,  just  budding  into  life  and  beauty.  The  little 
girl  with  her  eyes  beaming  like  brilliant  stars,  and  with  her 
soul  aflame  writh  enthusiasm,  turned  to  her  mother  and  said : 
"Ma!  oh,  ma!  just  come  and  see  this  little  baby  flower,  rais- 
ing its  head  to  kiss  its  mother  before  she  dies."  No  poetical 
fancy  was  ever  more  charming,  and  no  conception  more  beau- 
tifully clothed. 

In  the  quiet  retreats  lit  up  by  all  kinds  of  light,  the  ram- 
bler now  and  then  finds  those  of  slow  understanding.  He 
would  counsel  a  patience  with  them.  It  is  a  scene  of  unpleas- 
antness to  see  one  fret  at  the  little  child  that  fails  to  keep  pace 
with  his  or  her  thought. 

The  injunction  is,  "Line  upon  line,  precept  upon  precept,  here 
a  little  and  there  a  little,"  By  and  by  there  will  be  a  raising, 


Under  the  Gas-Light.  -53 

a  bounding,  an  expansion,  and  down  the  years  the  world  will 
be  enriched  by  the  solution  of  unsolved  problems.  To-day 
there  is  an  untutored  pleading  for  care  and  cultivation.  It  is 
the  voice  of  a  spirit  of  free  inquiry,  which  ever  demands  a 
kindly  and  respectful  attention.  The  endless  questioning  of 
embryo  man  and  womanhood  is  but  the  sequence  of  the  soul's 
expansiveness,  and  the  struggling  to  enter  upon  the  mission 
of  a  vigorously  developing  immortality. 


54  'Under  the   Gas-Light. 


RAMBLE    XII. 


"TjHE  week  past  has  been  one  of  toil.  The  physical  condi- 
tion of  the  rambler,  upon  the  night  set  apart  for  his  gas- 
light review,  is  one  of  weariness.  Under  the  glare  of  the 
jets  he  sees  no  attraction.  Over  a  stretch  of  intervening 
time  he  is  moved  to  dwell  upon  a  court  scene,  local  in  its  char- 
acter. The  impressions  made  in  connection  therewith  will 
ever  have  a  hold  upon  the  inner  spiritual  penetralia.  The 
scene  refered  to,  and  which  we  propose  to  picture,  tends  to  fix 
as  a  fact,  that  it  makes  no  difference  how  low  we  may  get,  or 
how  degraded  we  become,  there  will  be  found  existing  some- 
where an  affection  for  us  in  some  shape  or  other. 

A  mother  and  her  daughter,  two  women,  who  at  one  time 
in  their  life  were  among  the  favored  children  of  fortune,  sur- 
rounded by  all  that  luxury  could  lavish,  attracts  the  rambler's 
attention.  They  are  clothed  in  mourning.  Death  had  enter- 
ed the  household  and  taken  from  the  family  their  only  sup- 
port. One  by  one  downward  steps  had  been  made,  and 
continued,  until  a  level  was  reached  from  which  that  widowed 
mother  and  affectionate  daughter  would  have  turned  in  dis- 


(jnder  the   (jets-Light.  55 

may  earlier  in  life.  They  were  poor  and  had  come  into  court 
to  plead  for  one  dear  to  them,  the  widow's  son  and  sister's 
brother — the  grown  babe  from  the  luxurious  surroundings, 
now  clad  in  rags  and  in  a  condition  of  hunger.  The  most 
painful  feature  was  in  the  fact  that  this  child  of  motherly  and 
sisterly  affection,  was  on  the  record  as  a  thief.  He  had  stolen 
some  article,  enough  to  constitute  grand  larceny,  if  he  had 
been  old  enough.  The  mother  and  sister  had  secured  consent 
of  the  attorney,  and  the  court  had  ordered  the  recognizance 
of  the  three  to  be  taken.  The  Sheriff  departed  for  the  son  and 
brother — the  grown  baby  boy.  The  mother  and  daughter  sit 
together,  the  picture  of  dispair,  waiting  for  the  officer's  return. 
Close  by  was  little  dog  Tray,  the  only  pet  of  the  kind  left  in 
the  family  to  remind  its  members  of  former  and  better  days. 
Tray  looked  as  only  a  dog  can  look  when  instinctively  he 
discovers  that  "all  is  not  well"  in  the  home.  The  mother 
seemed  to  be  catechising  God  to  know  why  it  was  thus  with 
her.  The  little  black  and  tan  presented  a  mournful  look. 
Just  then  there  was  a  rustling  noise.  The  officer  and  the  boy 
had  appeared.  Both  of  the  females  began  to  weep  when 
they  beheld  him  with  his  liberty  not  his  own,  marched  along 
like  a  felon,  and  presenting  a  scene  of  distress.  The  mother 
could  scarcely  stand.  The  inward  fountain  of  grief  had  swell- 
ed to  an  overflowing.  Until  now  the  little  dog  had  betrayed 
only  the  same  brute  instinct  of  a  knowledge  that  something  out 
of  the  usual  order  was  going  on.  As  the  boy  approached,  the 


56  '   Under  the   Gas-Light. 

dog  who  had  not  been  near  him  for  some  time,  because  of  his 
imprisonment,  gave  a  jump  toward  him,  and  in  the  wildest  de- 
monstration of  gladness,  huddled  up,  placing  his  head  against 
the  boy's  tattered  pants  and  looking  as  if  to  say :  "Your  friend 
still  recognizes  you."  The  action  of  the  dog  seemed  to  give 
new  courage  to  the  hearts  of  mother  and  sister,  and  as  the 
trio  of  poor  humanity  walked  forth  from  the  court  room,  the 
dog  continued  his  exhibition  of  joy  and  gladness.  He  was 
not  afraid  of  the  boy's  rent  and  worn  garments.  He  knew 
him  not  as  a  thief.  It  was  the  boy  he  had  loved  and  romped 
with,  and  no  courts  of  justice  could  shake  his  affection,  no 
matter  what  might  be  their  decrees.  The  dog  comprehended 
no  sin  and  no  shame.  These  caused  no  detraction.  His  faith 
was  the  same  and  his  love  and  confidence  as  ever  abiding. 


Under  the   Gas-Light,  57 


RAMBLE    XIII 


is  now  evening.  The  twilight  hours  have  come.  Night 
with  its  sable  wings  is  approaching.  All  is  quiet  within 
and  without.  Life  is  but  a  dream.  The  years  are  fleet  in 
their  going.  Man  aspires,  climbs  and  reaches  his  end.  He 
moves  and  wields  his  power,  then  closes  his  eyes,  and  if  he  • 
has  done  well  his  part  in  the  battle,  a  cenotaph  is  reared  to  tell 
the  place  where  he  sleeps.  Just  in  from  under  the  gas-light. 
On  the  corner  the  rambler  met  an  aged  pilgrim.  "Nearing 
the  end,  but  still  looking  up,"  was  his  refrain.  Life  to  him 
has  been  one  of  ceaseless  activity  and  he  is  now  patiently 
waiting  for  an  era  of  rest,  an  era  that  will  span  the  eternal 
years.  "Looking  up;"  there's  a  virtue  in  doing  that.  It  sug- 
gests a  hope,  a'  great  expectation.  It  is  an  evidence  of  confi- 
dence. Looking  up  is  to  look  toward  better  things.  There 
is  more  purity  above  the  head  of  man  than  beneath  his  feet; 
more  light  beaming  from  the  stars  than  can  be  seen  along  the 
bvways  of  mortal  existence.  In  the  spiritual  sense,  man  st-1- 


58  Under  the   Gas-Light. 

clom  falls  when  he  is  looking  up.     He  finds  himself  braced 
by  an  inspiration  that  flows  from  the  Divine  Heart. 

What  is  life? — a  dream. 
What  is  hope  ? — a  beam . 
Now  a  happy  gleam. 

Now  a  downward  stream. 

« 

Yes,  life  is  but  a  dream.  The  years  roll  on,  the  insatiate 
archer  comes  and  man  leaves  the  stage.  And  this  is  life.  We 
look  around  us  and  behold  monuments  here  and  there  that 
will  not  perish.  Mental  abstractions,  works  of  masters,  fruits 
of  genius.  Under  the  gas-light  sheen,  as  move  by  the  sover- 
eign constituency  of  a  republican  commonwealth,  we  pause 
to  look  at  the  picture  of  the  martyred  Lincoln.  An  unthink- 
ing man  standing  by  says:  "Oh,  he  was  only  a  man."  The 
words  were  spoken  lightly  as  if  to  convey  a  rebuke  to  those 
who,  standing  in  such  a  presence,  should  indicate  by  their  man- 
ner a  condition  of  hero-worship.  In  all  the  ages  of  human 
history  men  have  worshiped  the  divine  principle ;  have  wor- 
shiped lofty  characters  and  the  great  throbbing  and  redeem- 
ing elements  of  the  human  heart.  God  can  be  worshiped 
in  the  human  soul  with  as  contrite  a  devotion  as  he  can  be 
though  he  were  alone  in  the  heavens.  Close  by  is  "The  Star 
of  Bethlehem,"  a  picture  of  holiness,  telling  of  the  birth  of  a 
great  soul.  There  is  "The  Angel  of  Peace" — a  picture  of 
hope — passing  in  midnight  darkness  over  a  deserted  city  with 
an  infant  in  its  arms  and  a  bunch  of  flowers  in  its  hand. 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  59 

There  is  gloom  behind  but  light  before;  below  there  are  tears 
above  there  is  joy;  beneath  the  feet  there  is  pain;  above  the 
head  there  is  comfort  and  peace,  and  to  that  condition  the 
angel  is  passing,  and  through  a  halo  of  spiritual  glory. 

"I  saw  you  then  through  political  glasses,  and  the  impres- 
sions formed  were  not  honestlv  made,"  was  the  language 
heard  by  the  rambler  after  he  had  ceased  his  rambling.  It 
was  in  the  days  of  the  Union  League  that  the  impressions  re- 
ferred to  had  been  formed.  A  stretch  of  years  intervene  since 
then,  and  men  have  become  more  philosophic.  In  this  era  of 
moderate  conservatism  political  conviction  is  not  taken  as  an 
indication  of  character.  The  creed  of  party  and  the  policies 
outlined  in  platforms  do  not  lower  or  raise  character.  "He  is 
an  honest  democrat,  an  honest  republican,  or  an  honest  social- 
ist" is  not  as  good  a  thing  to  say  as:  "He  is  an  honest  man," 
for  it  hath  been  written  "an  honest  man  is  the  noblest  work 
of  God,"  but  nowhere  that  an  honest  democrat,  an  honest  re- 
publican, or  an  honest  socialist  was  "the  noblest  work  of 
God."  Had  this  been  known  in  the  days  to  which  allusion  is 
made,  the  knowledge  would  have  been  helpful  in  many  ways. 
There  would  not  have  been  so  many  faulty  deductions  from 
unwarranted  premises.  Human  hearts  would  not  have  en- 
gendered so  much  of  bitterness  to  be  sweetened  in  the  after 
years  of  life.  "Those  days  have  passed,  and  the  events  which 
were  crowded  into  them  have  gone  to  history,  and  I  am  glad 
of  it,"  was  an  utterance  which  was  interjected.  They  were 


60  '    Under  the   Gas-Light. 

stormy  days — days  of  a  fully  developed  vigor,  and  which 
tried  men's  souls,  bringing  them  to  their  best  force.  'Tis  well 
that  men's  souls  are  tried.  They  need  trying  now  and  then. 
Periodical  soul  testing  is  essential  for  a  happy  and  successful 
life.  There  are  a  number  being  tested  in  Springfield  to-day, 
tested,  as  it  were,  in  an  ordeal  of  fire. 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  61 


RAMBLE    XIV. 


IHE  wheathercook,  and  sea  wave,  and  the  capricious  vapors 
of  the  mountains,  we  must  all  confess,  are  no  more  vari- 
able than  man  and  his  moods.  So  delicately  are  some 
nerves  strung  that  a  damp  day,  or  the  east  wind,  or  a  few 
eddying  hours  of  snow  or  rain,  will  make  to  them  all  the  dif- 
ference between  heaven  and  some  dread  inquisitorial  hall. 
Some  look  out  upon  winter  and  grow  pale  and  shiver,  not  for 
lack  of  the  fireside  and  luxury,  but  because  the  leafless  spec- 
tacle suggests  cold  hearthstones  and  cries  of  agony,  and  frosted 
hopes  and  thoughts  that  take  the  hue  of  the  dull,  gray  dome 
of  the  sky  that  hangs  now  over  us  all.  Others  are  so  in  love 
with  the  sleighbells  and  moonlight  that  even  the  first  snow- 
flake  that  blossoms  and  falls  they  will  greet  with  a  kiss.  But 
with  the  up-springing  grass,  and  bloom,  and  bird  song  of 
spring-time,  we  will  all  bud,  and  laugh,  and  sing  again,  save 
those  whose  months  have  become  bleak  Decembers,  made  so 
by  misfortune,  age,  or  the  world's  wrong. 

While  the  thermometer  gauges  the  physical  temperature, 
it  can  als/>  be  made  to  measure  the  soul's  mental  and  moral 
seasons  from  the  point  of  xero  all  the  way  up  to  fever  heat. 


62  Under  the   Gas-Light. 

All  the  influences  that  captivate  us,  whether  they  draw  us  up 
and  on  in  the  shape  of  a  book,  an  art,  a  poem,  or  a  great  per- 
sonage, will,  for  the  time  being,  at  least,  lift  us  into  the  state 
of  a  beautiful  frenzy.  We  turn  whichever  way  the  wind  of 
inspiration  happens  to  blow  the  strongest.  Perhaps  we  hear 
Wendell  Phillips,  and  as  long  as  the  enthusiasm  lasts  we  will 
try  to  win  the  charm  of  the  silver  tongue,  or  we  hear  Miss 
Kellogg,  and  for  a  while  we  have  a  passion  to  breed  and  train 
up  in  our  throats  a  nest  full  of  larks  and  nightingales.  Some- 
times a  circumstance,  light  as  a  feather,  will  determine  the 
direction  of  thoughts  and  feelings,  and  give  to  a  moment  all 
the  dramatic  effect  of  a  great  turn-point  in  life.  The  sight  of 
a  beautiful  face  or  a  bit  of  heroic  action  would  decide  whether 
the  production  be  a  piece  of  music,  a  cartoon,  or  an  exquisite 
portrait ;  so  the  rambler,  fresh  from  the  gilded  court  room  or 
the  halls  of  legislation,  as  he  stepped  on  the  grand  stairwav 
of  the  capital  under  the  glare  of  gas-lights,  was  led  to  gaze 
upon  the  graceful  pillows  of  the  portico,  and  to  think  of 
Zeno's  porch  of  philosophy,  and  the  garden  of  Epicurus,  and 
the  groves  of  the  academy.  Then  it  came  to  pass  that  his 
thoughts  took  somewhat  of  a  philosophic  turn  from  the  sight 
of  fluted  columns  and  grand  proportions.  Glancing  over  the 
city's  mansions  and  cottages,  and  beyond  where  in  summer 
wave  the  golden  grain,  and  hang  the  soft  white  blossoms  or 
God's  own  planting,  and  where  live  men  of  strong  and  sturdv 
mould,  we  asked  ourselves  what  were  the  subtle  physical  in- 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  63 

fluences  that  are  at  work  in  shaping  the  destiny  of  our  peo- 
ple? It  is  not  hard  for  the  statesman  and  thinker  to  trace  in 
a  (lawless  atmosphere,  the  mystic  dreams  of  Egypt,  or  to  see 
the  Greek  passion  for  intellect  and  beauty  in  the  grand  lines 
of  sea  coast  and  in  the  azure  overhead. 

If  it  be  true  that  mists,  and  snowy  winds,  and  marshes,  and 
thunderstorms,  and  good  soil  cultivate  in  men  endurance  and 
thrift,  and  noble  endeavor,  then  can  we  see  how  the  early 
pioneer  with  his  log  hut  and  strip  of  clearing  has  become  the 
man  of  wealth  and  culture,  with  a  garden  and  a  palace  home. 

But  after  all,  there  is  an  ideal  religion  stepping  along  in  our 
midst,  and  leading  us  out  of  the  narrow  little  vSchools  of  sect 
into  the  grand  concert  hall  of  Christianty,  where  all  the 
instruments  play  together  on  the  all  embracing  theme  of  the 
Cross.  If  the  gospel  chimes  break  into  silvery  peals  every 
time  a  sinner  repents,  then  for  the  three  weeks  past  on  some 
nights  the  belfries  of  heaven  shook  out  among  the  stars 
and  angels  a  storm  of  jubilant  bells.  The  grand  spectacle  of 
the  masses  streaming  into  one  church  of  union  service,  and 
commingling  all  creeds  into  harmony,  like  the  notes  of  a  beau- 
tiful chord,  or  the  seven  colors  of  the  prism  blending  into  one, 
is  enough  to  relieve  the  old  sneer  of  the  skeptic  about  the  lack 
of  Christian  brotherhood.  By  slow  degrees  we  are  getting 
the  intellectual  power,  and  more  insight  into  what  is  really 
great  and  what  is  really  small.  We  see  the  mockery  of  the 
anise  and  begin  to  cling  to  mercy,  justice,  and  truth.  The 


64  Under  the   Gas-Light. 

divine  Jesus  passing  by  in  stately  indifference,  is  coming  along 
with  arms  of  affection  outstretched  to  all  the  race,  and  so  we 
see  fetters  breaking,  and  the  rage  of  persecution  giving  place 
to  brotherly  love,  and  the  fear  of  hell  changing  into  unfalter- 
ing attachment  to  the  infinite  Father,  and  .the  intoxication  of 
the  senses  flowing  before  spiritual  pleasures,  and  as  the  theme 
in  the  symphony  of  a  Beethoven,  guides  and  melts  into  har- 
mony all  the  parts,  so  will  the  loving  Master  bring  into  sub- 
lime control  all  sects  and  states,  and  symbols  of  power,  until 
home,  and  school,  and  temple,  and  throne,  shall  acknowledge 
every  woman  a  possible  queen,  and  shall  see  in  every  child  a 
member  of  the  invincible  kingdom. 

Not  a  bit  of  light  that  we  let  shine  out  into  the  dark  is  ever 
lost,  and  God  is  surely  as  kind  as  nature  in  her  conservation 
of  forces.  We  are  all  aware  that  we  are  pretty  correct  in  say- 
ing that  every  gas-light  that  gleams  out  into  the  mystery  of 
night  is  a  ten  or  hundred  thousand  year  old  spark  of  the  sun, 
which  the  gigantic  tree  ferns  of  long  ago,  secretly  laid  away 
in  the  coal  beds  for  our  use.  All  the  dealings  of  Providence 
teach  us  that  we  are  in  the  tender  hand  of  the  Father,  and 
we  may  safely  throw  into  the  future  an  unmeasurable  trust 
and  hope.  All  over  blasted  orange  blossoms,  and  black 
plumes,  and  the  thorny  paths  of  life,  like  the  starry  heavens, 
bending  in  smiles  over  fields  of  carnage,  bends  down  upon  us, 
with  the  sure  promise  that  God  will  keep  his  word  and  will 
lead  us  into  a  brighter  and  holier  future. 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  65 


RAMBLE    XV. 

I  IjWO  weeks  have  passed  since  the  rambler  rambled,  arcl 
"  V  for  him,  in  this  period  of  time,  has  come  much  of  sorrow. 
!  !j  The  soul  has  been  convulsed,  and  through  its  chambers 

has  rushed  a  flood  of  tears.'!  Round  about  its  seat  has  settled 

•B 

a  deep  shadow,  blinding  the  weakness  of  human  vision,  and 
disturbing  the  convictions  of  human  reason.  When  last  the 
rambler  rambled  and  closed  his  chapter,  ere  the  sorrow  came, 
with  its  ministry  of  tears,  he  used  these  words:  "All  the 
dealings  of  Providence  teach  us  that  we  are  in  the  tender  hand 
of  the  Father,  and  we  may  safely  throw  into  the  future  unmeas- 
urable  trust  and  hope.  All  over  blasted  orange  blossoms,  and 
black  plumes,  and  the  thorny  paths  of  life,  like  the  starry  heav- 
ens, hanging  in  smiles  over  fields  of  carnage,  bend  down  up- 
on us  all,  with  the  sure  promise  that  God  will  keep  his  word, 
and  will  lead  us  into  a  brighter  and  holier  future."  When 
these  words  were  written  the  rambler  little  dreamed  that  over 
his  soul  would  droop  an  orange  blossom,  and  that  around  his 
head  would  flutter  a  black  plume.  There  was  a  wounding  to 
cure,  a  fading  away  to  bloom  in  a  brighter  glory  and  a  falling 


66  Under  the   Gas-Light. 

to  rise  in  a  spiritual  reign.  Under  the  gleam  of  a  light  that 
never  faltered,  the  rambler  paused  to  see  a  soul  spring  from 
its  mortal  existence  to  its  heritage  in  the  skies.  Blooming 
Eden  may  wither  from  our  sight;  but  through  the  air  there 
comes  a  voice  telling  earth's  weary  souls  that  there  the  King 
of  Terror  is  the  Prince  of  Peace. 

"I)e;ith  lies  on  her  like  an  untimely  frost 
Vpon  th'i  sweetest  flower  of  all  the  field," 

was  the  language  that  came  to  the  rambler's  heart  through 
the  shadow  of  its  gloom.  It  was  in  the  early  morning,  when 
the  angels  passed  out  from  their  heavenly  home,  and  entered 
the  chamber  of  the  rambler's  best  life,  and  where  in  the  pres- 
ence of  God,  was  ebbing  away  the  object  of  his  most  ardent 
hope.  Through  an  open  window  came  light  from  distant 
stars,  as  if  to  guide  the  way  for  the  messengers  out  from  Par- 
adise. The  soul,  which  for  weary  hours  had  been  fluttering 
for  freedom  from  its  mortal  palace,  had  sweetly  whispered : 
"Lo!  peace  is  here."  "Safe  in  the  arms  of  Jesus"  was  the 
melody  that  floated  back.  It  was  the  sweetest  song  the  ram- 
bler ever  heard,  a  song  that  will  crowd  its  notes  out  through 
the  windows  of  heaven  as  long  as  flowers  bloom,  to  express  the 
language  of  the  heart's  love  and  affection.  Safe  in  the  arms 
of  the  crucified  one  is  the  best  and  happiest  end  of  life.  The 
soul  breathed  the  song,  and  the  rambler  through  the  gather- 
ing gloom,  when  the  gas-lights  were  low,  and  the  stars  in  the 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  67 

heavens  were  bright,  fancied  he  saw  the  gates  placed  ajar  by 
one  who  held  in  his  hand  a  crown  of  immortal  life. 

There  comes  another  scene :  The  parting.  Flowers  of 
God's  own  planting,  arranged  by  God's  own  children,  came 
to  breathe  a  wealth  of  affection.  The  rambler  pauses  to  con- 
template them  in  their  fragrance,  but  beyond  on  the  further 
bank  of  the  river,  he  sees  a  flower,  which  God  loved,  and 
wanted,  and  carried  away.  Can  we  say  that  God  did  well, 
that  he  did  right,  when  we  look  near  about  and  see  the  inno- 
cent tendrils  that  were  clinging  to  that  flower  for  protection, 
for  love,  and  for  sympathy — a  mother's  sympathy?  The 
mortal  stands  still  in  a  maze  of  reflection.  He  is  surrounded 
with  mystery.  He  is  met  with  presentments  he  does  not 
understand.  A  flower  is  made  to  fade  in  its  early  bloomingi 
and  is  not  permitted  to  reach  its  full  maturity.  Mortality  fails 
to  understand  it.  Philosophy,  in  its  mystery,  fails  to  give  any 
light.  The  rambler  is  told  that  hence  in  the  future  life  all 
will  be  made  clear,  and  that  he  will  then  know  why  this  and 
that  flower  were  wanted  so  early  for  the  garden  of  God. 
However,  there  is  a  shadow  which  the  philosophies  of  life 
cannot  dispel,  but  through  it  comes  a  light,  a  soul  light,  telling 
the  story  of  redemption  and  of  a  glorified  life,  where  the  in- 
stincts, and  hopes,  and  loves  of  the  soul  are  as  sure  to  be  met 
as  the  need  for  life  is  met.  Standing  alongside  these  shadowy- 
curtains  the  rambler  looks  away  to  whither  has  gone  the  light 
of  a  life.  When  he  tries  to  realize  how  he  shall  live  in  the 


68  Under  the   Gas-Light. 

life  to  come,  the  future  is  hidden  by  impenetrable  walls, 
but  when  he  tries  to  realize  that  he  shall  live,  it  is  radiant 
with  immortal  light;  and  when  he  advances  from  that  point 
to  particulars,  he  is  inclined  to  keep  in  the  track  of  this  assur- 
ance. Love,  truth,  and  goodness  are  not  transient  things. 
They  are  eternal  because  God  is.  Alone  under  the  gas  light 
the  rambler  thinks  of  nothing  but  the  loves  which  he  has 
found  his  soul  cleaving  to.  As  he  looks  at  the  stars  he  prays 
that  these  loves  may  be  given  him  again,  and  about  him  falls 
a  sweet  suggestive  silence.  It  is  a  silence  which  he  would 
trust,  in  that  it  rests  in  the  honor  of  God.  It  was  Jean  Paul 
who  wrote :  "Our  life  departs  not  from  the  soul,  but  into  the 
soul."  That  is  to  say,  it  lays  the  scepter  of  its  organism 
down  and  dismisses  the  world  that  has  served  it,  that  God 
may  satisfy  its  hunger  and  thirst  after  the  bread  and  water  of 
eternal  life. 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  69 


RAMBLE    XVI. 


IjOW  many  inner  existences  there  are  wrapped  up  in  them- 
selves with  histories  written  upon  a  scroll  not  permitted 
to  be  unrolled.  There  is  a  passing  up  a  stairway,  and 
looking  above,  a  light  is  seen  through  a  third  story  win- 
dow. A  reader  of  books,  and  a  skimmer  of  surface  present- 
ments, imparted  the  information  that  in  that  retreat  had  been 
instituted  "an  arena  of  risks."  It  being  ascertained  who  its 
patrons  were,  a  conclusion  was  reached  that  they  came  from 
that  class  of  humanity  possessed  of  more  money  than  brains. 

Candidates  for  political  preferment  will  operate  "  under  the 
gas-light."  With  them  exists  a  desire  to  interview  all  shades 
and  conditions  of  the  population. 

"  My  friend,"  asks  a  sovereign  of  the  commonwealth,  "  how 
do  you  stand  with  the  workingmen  ?"  "  Well,"  said  the 
friend,  "  I  have  been  out  to  ascertain  as  to  that." 

A  man  of  a  reflective  bent  of  mind,  standing  near  by  wants 
to  know  what  is  meant  by  "workingmen."  The  sovereign, 
with  a  mind  somewhat  narrow,  and  a  conception  of  limited 
extension,  replied  : 


70  Under  the   Gas-Light, 

"  Those  who  earn  their  bread  by  the  sweat  of  their  brow." 

"  And  who  are  they  ?" 

"Those  who  labor  in  the  field,  in  the  factory,  and  in  the. 
shop." 

"And  these  are  the  workingmen,  these  the  brow-sweating 
toilers?" 

The  man  with  the  reflective  mind,  philosophic  and  con- 
ceptive,  paused  a  moment,  and  then  to  the  sovei'eign  said : 

"My  friend,  you  have  a  wrong  conception.  Your  classifi- 
cation is  faulty.  There  are  men  in  this  city  who  toil  when 
you  are  asleep,  and  cease  not  when  you  are  awake,  whom* 
you  imagine  are  idlers  in  the  vineyard.  The  theory  of  repub- 
lican government  is  that  all  men  are  workingmen,  and  those 
who  fail  to  conform  to  the  theory  generally  land  in  the  jails 
and  penitentiaries." 

At  this  moment  there  passes  a  man  hurriedly.  He  is  re- 
spectably clad.  For  the  past  twelve  hours  he  is  known  to 
have  been  toiling.  He  has  been  through  the  state  house, 
the  United  States  building,  the  court  house,  the  hotels. 
Where  he  is  going  now  we  know  not.  It  may  be  to  north 
grand  avenue.  Ten  hours  is  counted  a  "workingman's"  dav 
of  toil,  but  this  man  in  addition  to  his  twelve  hours  of  labor 
already  performed  has  three  or  four  more  to  add  before  he 
can  seek  his  rest,  and  then,  after  all,  come  the  shriveled-souled 
ones  refusing  to  classify  him  as  a  workingman. 

Here  comes  a   sister  of    charity,  and    unattended.       It    is  a 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  -ji 

late  hour  for  a  female  to  be  upon  the  street,  but  her  appear- 
ance suggests  no  impropriety.  Her  relationship  attaches  to 
an  ideally  that  outranks  faith  and  hope,  for  it  hath  been  writ- 
ten :  "And  now,  abideth  faith,  hope,  charity,  these  three ;  but 
the  greatest  of  these  is  charity,"  and  to  the  "greatest  of  these" 
this  woman  is  a  sister.  Under  the  gas-lights  she  passes,  heed- 
ing not  their  glitter  and  glare.  It  would  be  all  the  same  to 
her  should  these  lights  cease  to  perform  their  functions,  for 
beyond  these  earthly  conditions  she  looks  to  a  light  flashing 
out  from  an  eternal  existence.  "Chanty  suffereth  long,  and 
is  kind,"  and  "charity  never  faileth,"  were  words  uttered  in 
the  redemption  period,  and  through  all  the  ages  these  truths 
have  been  seen  and  felt.  Vile  men  turn  aside  to  let  her  pass, 
and  they  turn  not  about  to  see  whither  she  goes.  They  con- 
cede her  path  to  be  the  path  of  purity,  and  her  mission  to  be 
one  of  charity.  From  their  lips  come  no  inuendoes.  The 
signs  were  the  Cross  and  the  Graces,  and  these  suggested  no 
unseemly  stain.  Her  guiding  directed  to  realizations  above 
and  beyond  earthly  frailties  and  earthly  passions.  Her  min- 
istrations were  nourished  by  inspirations  flowing  from  the 
heart  of  the  heavens,  and  therefore  along  her  pathway  arc 
seen  buds  of  blessing  blooming  into  flowers  of  reward,  and 
at  her  feet  jewels  of  gratitude,  to  appeal  in  crownc  of  rejoic- 
ing where  scourge  and  pestilence  come  not  to  blast  and 
wither. 

Into  a  by-way  we  now  enter.     The  gas-lights  are  left  be- 


72  Under  the   Gas-Light. 

hind.  The  surroundings  are  cheerless.  Gloom  walks  about 
as  if  it  knew  no  master.  Here  a  ray  of  sunlight  would  have 
trembled  and  the  voice  of  humanity  faltered  unattended  by 
an  angel  of  charity.  From  a  lowly  bed  draped  with  the 
shreds  of  poverty  conies  a  voice  weak  in  expression.  The 
story  told  is  the  old,  old  one,  and  then  comes  in  a  sadly  pa- 
thetic tone,  the  words :  "I  want  to  go  home."  The  heart 
with  such  a  desire  is  not  lost.  Though  it  throbs  wildly  in  its 
beatings,  there  liveth  a  hope  when  home  is  remembered. 
Such  remembrance  tells  of  a  soul  longing  for  rest,  of  a  life 
that  would  pray  to  be  caressed. 

At  home  is  the  best  place  under  the  sun,  especially  for  a 
woman.  There  is  her  realm  of  undisputed  supremacy;  there 
she  can  be  queen  without  a  rival.  There  she  can  educate,  and 
govern,  and  thereby  do  grander  work  than  he  who  writes 
epics,  discovers  planets,  or  holds  in  his  hand  a  scepter.  And 
why  upon  a  given  night,  in  a  byway  in  this  city,  and  within 
a  shadow  of  gloom  should  be  heard  a  voice:  "I  want  to  go 
home,"  and  from  one  seemingly  not  knowing  how  to  get  there 
is  a  mystery  to  which  the  passing  moments  bring  no  solution, 
and  charity,  which  is  kind,  institutes  and  presses  no  investi- 
gation. 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  73 


RAMBLE    XVII 


There  came  sweet  music  through  the  air; 
\Ve  looked  up  and  saw  that  there 
In  mirth  and  spirit  was  human  wart- . 

In  a  maze  of  intemperate  life 
With  a  mixture  of  bitter  strife, 
Chilling  the  heart  like  a  pointed  knife. 

The  human  soul  had  lost  its  place. 
From  mental  work  to  gilded  grace — 
Xo  work  of  thought  was  there  a  trace. 

The  town  clock  tolled  the  midnight  hour, 
Tolled  thi  d-'cay  of  some  bright  flower, 
Losing-  its  bloom,  losing  its  power. 

Out  walked  a  youth  all  alone — 
Away  from  mother,  out  from  home: 
Losing  his  vigor,  losing  his  tone. 

"Only  wild  oats,"  and  that  is  all. 
But  an  aged  one  who  paced  the  hall, 
Shook  his  head  as  he  heard  the  call. 

The  past  was  fresh — had  told  its  tale 
How  youth  from  there  had  met  the  gale — 
Full  of  wrath  and  of  sweeping  hail. 

How  orphans  cried  when  shadows  fell, 
How  they  cried  when  they  heard  the  ball, 
How  they  cried  when  they  heard  the  knell . 

"Wild  oats"  when  sown  never  came 
From  seed  to  life,  a  golden  grain: 
Its  fruit  is  tears,  to  heart  a  pain. 


74  Under  the   Gas-Light. 

The  company  is  a  mixed  one,  containing  many  elements. 
It  shows  a  representation  of  the  low  and  high  ranks  of  life. 
It  is  a  traveling  assembly.  One  night  it  is  on  north  fifth 
street,  one  night  on  east  Washington  street,  and  another 
night  it  is  hid  away  beyond  the  open  glare  of  the  gas-lights. 
This  "wild  oats"  is  not  only  being  sown,  but  it  is  growing.  By 
and  by  the  grain  will  show  itself.  In  fact  it  is  showing  itself 
to-night.  A  woman  drunk  is  a  sight  painful  to  dwell  upon. 
Man  never  looked  upon  a  sadder  scene,  especially  when  can 
be  traced  the  marks  of  a  faded  beauty,  and  the  battered  points 
of  an  intelligence.  There  are  those  seen  to-night  behind 
these  particular  screens  to  which  we  refer,  who  would  not 
wish  "to  be  known  in  the  case."  They  are  objects  of  an  un- 
usual affection,  the  apples  of  love-lit  eyes,  and  the  scions  of 
good  houses.  They  give  it  out  that  they  are  just  there  to  be- 
hold; and  what  do  they  behold?  Not  anything  beautiful,  for 
that  is  not  there  save  in  a  faded  condition.  Not  anything  ele- 
vating in  virtue,  for  that  has  been  smothered.  Not  anything 
musical,  for  the  surroundings  have  turned  the  music  into  an 
inharmonious  discord.  They  see  naught  but  a  vivid  intoxi- 
cation. 

There  is  a  rap  upon  the  door.  "Who's  there?"  came  the 
question  from  an  inward  recess.  "It's  me!"  "And  who  is 
me?"  It  was  a  trifle;  it  all  happened  in  an  instant,  but  it 
haunted  the  rambler  for  an  hour  or  more.  "It's  me,"  and 
who  is  me?  The  pride  of  a  heart's  life,  no  doubt;  the  tree  a 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  75 

vine  was  clinging  to.  Defender  of  the  faithful,  in  the  best 
sense  of  the  word.  Many  there  be  abroad  to-night  who 
would  give  their  hearts  and  all  there  is  in  them  for  one  such 
recognition.  It  is  the  recognition  of  faith,  the  music  cf  love, 
and  the  well  measured  poetry  of  an  inner  life.  Out  upon  the 
street,  on  change,  in  the  marts  of  trade,  in  the  assembly  and 
in  the  lobby,  it  is  simply  Mr.  B.,  but  at  this  hour,  within  the 
silence  of  the  night,  and  under  the  gleam  of  the  stars,  it  is 
plain  "  It's  me;"  and  there  is  one  who  knows  who  "me"  is. 
Others  might  not  know,  and  many  do  not  know,  but  this  decs 
not  matter,  for  at  this  hour,  the  hour  when  the  rambler  ram- 
bles there  is  but  one  who  has  any  right  to  know  who  "  me" 
is;  and  such  a  recognition  as  that  just  given,  is  of  the  kind 
that  makes  men  masters  and  giants  in  the  world. 

We  enter  a  room  in  a  locality  of  respectable  surroundings. 
The  conversation  going  on  suggests  to  the  rambler  that  he  is 
in  the  midst  of  school  men.  They,  too,  have  been  ranging 
under  the  gas-light,  but  we  attribute  nothing  to  them  damag- 
ing since  they  assume  to  be  looking  after  the  youth  of  the 
commonwealth.  But  what  a  wonderful  amount  of  theory  do 
we  find  here.  All  seem  to  be  theoretical  and  deductive  phil- 
osophers. However,  one  who  has  been  silent  all  the  while, 
but  a  close  listener,  speaks,  without  being  asked,  saying: 
"Give  us  something  practical."  With  him  it  was  of  but  lit- 
tle consequence  whether  or  not  He/ekiah  was  King  of  Israel. 
He  did  n't  deem  it  of  much  moment  to  know  how  long  to 


76  Under  the   Gas-Light. 

a  foot  the  river  Jordan  was,  or  the  exact  geographical  posi- 
tion of  Ephesus.  He  did  consider  it  of  great  importance  in 
all  teaching  to  emphasize  that  which  tells  of  the  right  way  of 
living,  and  which  points  out  the  beautiful  and  the  unseemly, 
the  noble  and  the  ignoble.  His  inclination  was  to  ask  for  a 
teaching  that  was  practical ;  that  would  move  the  heart  and 
brain  to  essentials,  and  which,  from  a  moral  stand-point,  would 
cause  a  lifting  up  of  the  soul ;  a  teaching  the  heeding  of  which 
will  bring  man  nearer  the  goodness  of  life;  that  will  hold 
back  the  young  from  quick-sandy  places,  and  point  them  to  a 
condition,  and  to  a  realization  above  and  beyond  the  heartless 
vanities  of  life. 

The  rambler  passes,  and  as  he  does  so  everybody  whom  he 
meets  honored  with  his  acquaintance,  informs  him  that  the 
weather  is  cold.  With  so  much  testimony  he  could  have  no 
doubt  about  it.  A  dog  howls  as  if  in  pain.  A  gentleman 
had  stepped  upon  one  of  his  feet.  The  dog  pauses  and  looks 
up,  as  if  to  say :  "A  little  sympathy,  if  you  please,  sir."  The 
dog  won.  Calling  him,  the  gentleman  stepped  into  a  butcher 
shop  near  by  and  bought  for  him  a  pound  of  meat.  The  dog 
took  it  and  eating  looked  up  as  if  to  say :  "The  injury  has 
received  a  healing  balm,  we  are  friends."  There  may  be 
some  who  think  this  incident  of  no  moment,  but  the  rambler 
notes  it  as  worthy  of  contemplation  and  of  remembrance.  It 
was  the  indication  of  a  soul  that  had  an  unbounded  compass. 
The  cry  of  the  dog  reached  his  heart  and  called  for  a  sympa- 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  77 

thy  that  was  readily  given.  It  was  the  exhibition  of  a  trait 
of  character  redeeming  in  all  essential  ways.  Other  men 
would  have  passed  on  and  let  the  dog  howl,  but  this  man  did 
not.  It  was  sufficient  for  him  to  know  that  there  was  a  pain, 
and  that  he  was  the  cause  thereof.  Had  it  been  a  man  with 
a  mind  possessing  immortal  attributes  an  apology  would  have 
sufficed,  but  the  dog  had  no  mind  stored  with  a  responsive 
intelligence,  and  no  soul  filled  with  a  conception  of  duty.  His 
powers  were  instinctive,  and  therefore,  for  his  solace,  a  pound 
of  flesh  was  required,  and  it  was  kindly  given.  With  that 
man  this  act  was  the  result  of  a  conception  of  a  duty.  It  was 
the  dropping  of  a  ray  of  saving  light  from  the  effulgence  of 
his  heart  which  made  himself  and  the  dog  feel  better  and  hap- 
pier. This  man  was  no  Shylock;  no  grinding  usurer.  He 
despised  contraction  and  hated  narrow  grooves.  He  had  no 
love  for  a  strength  that  would  oppress  the  weak,  and  would  not 
be  drawn  to  a  heart  that  could  not  be  moved  to  a  ministration 
of  mercy,  even  to  the  lowest  of  animal  life. 


78  Under  the   Gas-Light. 


RAMBLE    XVIII. 

I  EAR  love-lit  eyes  may  seem  extinguished  in  the  sleep  of 
death,  but  still  do  we  somehow  know  that  they  are  yet 
beaming  upon  us  with  the  same  tender  look.  All  the 
pall-bearers  do  is  but  to  carry  out  of  the  home  the  shattered 
chrysalis  shell  out  of  which  has  fled  the  bright  immortal  spirit 
to  the  pearly  gate.  Soon  we  shall  have  woven  in  our  hair 
the  frost  of  the  silver  years,  and  we'll  gladly  join  the  great 
caravan.  A  few  more  aches,  and  tears,  and  heartbreaks, 
and  then  the  long  dark  nights  will  be  over-past,  and  the  gas- 
lights will  be  turned  down,  and  the  golden  splendor  of 
Heaven  will  kindle  over  the  precious  dust  of  our  graves,  and 
the  dead  winter  of  life  will  break  into  the  eternal  spring  of 
the  new  Eden. 

To-night,  as  we  move  under  the  familiar  gas-lights,  we  are, 
as  ever,  impressed  that  still  "the  earth  moves;"  at  least  we 
may  not  torture  ourselves  into  the  belief  that  the  age  is  at  a 
standstill,  nor  that  it  is  going  backward.  The  fresh,  startling 
facts  of  to-day  are  sounding  loud  and  clear  in  our  ear  that 
the  world  is  moving  on  and  making  immense  strides  of  pro- 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  70, 

gress.  Already  we  can  analyze  the  sun-ftame  millions  of 
leagues  away,  and  inspect  the  craters  and  valleys  of  the  moon, 
and  catch  in  the  spectrum  the  rings  of  Saturn,  and  whisper 
across  continents  and  seas  electric  words,  and  perform  in  con- 
cert to  an  audience  a  hundred  miles  distant,  and  read  and 
know  all  the  great  facts  of  yesterday  in  this  morning's  news- 
paper; but  all  these  creative  energies  and  products  of  inven- 
tion are  small  compared  to  the  colossal  hunger  the  race  is 
feeling  for  a  new  freedom  and  power.  The  old  regime  of 
kings  and  epueens,  and  glittering  wardrobes,  is  slowly  dying 
out,  and  the  unescutcheoned  many  are  stepping  into  the  fore- 
ground, so  that  now  we  are  having  written  histories  of  the 
people  instead  of  the  chronicles  of  court  and  crown. 

Two  representatives  of  the  people  pass  by.  Says  one : 
"  Who  would  have  thought,  twenty,  yea,  ten  years  ago,  that 
a  committee  in  an  Illinois  legislative  body  would  have  re- 
ported favorably  upon  a  proposition  to  grant  an  elective  voice 
to  women  in  this  state  upon  a  question  of  vital  interest  ?"  Says 
the  other:  "  The  committee  could  n't  resist  the  pressure." 

"Just  so,"  uttered  the  rambler  as  he  went  his  way.  We 
are  getting  to  see  things  and  events  in  their  real  perspective 
and  proportions,  and  equal  rights  are  rapidly  being  accorded 
to  all  who  are  deemed  worthy.  Merit  always  wins  its  full 
share  of  recognition,  for  the  slow  but  sure  justice  of  the  years 
never  fails  to  weave  for  the  noble  brow  the  wreath  of  laurel 
it  deserves;  and  so  the  Greek  slave  poetess,  Sappho,  and  a 


So  Under  the   Gas-Light. 

Mrs.  Browning,  or  an  authoress  in  the  shape  of  a  queen,  have 
all  had  their  works  take  an  honored  place  amid  the  aristoc- 
racy of  letters. 

Long  made  the  plaything ^of  the"palace,  or^the  drudge  of 
field  and^kitchen/pr^the^slave  of  the3barbarian,';woman,^per- 
ceiving  more  and  more  clearly  that  fashion^  and  beauty  are 
mere  baubles,  as  over  against  intellect,  and  virtue,  and  far- 
seeing  moral  aims,  now  steps  to>'the  front  and  thrills,  like  an 
inspiration,  the^tender  nerves  of  all  by  her  lyrical  tones.~~"If 
she  had  rushed  into  the  halls  of  legislation  in  a  hiirricane  and 
clamored  for  rights  with  a  brazen  tongue  she  would  have 
seen  her  cause  doomed  to  a  forlorn  hope ;  but  she  comes  to 
the  law  makers  with  the  inspiration  of  prayer  and  with  a  tear- 
stirring  voice,  and  as  she  points  above  the  glare  of  the  chan- 
deliers to  the  graceful  festoonry  on  the  fretted  ceiling,  of  over 
one  hundred  thousand  names,  she  simply  pleads  for  the  right 
of  protecting  her  darling  boys,  and  who  can  resist  the  charms 
of  an  oratory  upon  such  a  theme?  Every  word  beats  with 
the  fervent  pulses  of  the  heart.  We  must  all  admit  her  to  be 
a  vast  and  increasing  force  in  art  and  literature,  in  public 
charities  and  education,  and  it  is  no  longer  a  misty  problem 
that  her  intellectual  and  moral  persistence  in  the  good,  true 
and  beautiful  will  carve  out  for  her  a  great  future  as  a  factor 
in  popular  government.  The  plea  of  these  women  is :  Give 
us  the  power  by  an  elective  voice  to  protect  our  darling  boys, 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  81 

and   the  result  will  be  seen  upon  the  statesmanship  of  the  fu- 
ture, and  upon  the  legislation  of  ages  to  come. 

After  all  there  is  not  as  much  protection  in  the  ministry  of 
law  as  in  the  ministry  of  love.  A  mother's  prayer  is  a  greater 
shield  for  her  darling  hoy  than  all  the  votes  of  a  common- 
wealth can  afford.  A  long  time  ago  the  idea  cropped  out 
in  the  civili/ation  of  the  centuries  that  law  was  not  man's 
redeemer;  in  fact  it  was  an  idea  that  obtained  with  the  divine 
council,  and  the  story  of  the  manger,  of  Bethlehem,  and  of 
Calvary  followed.  The  principle  that  love  was  the  crowning 
force  essential  for^he  protection  of  all  the  darling  boys  of  the 
race,  early  gleamed  and  flashed  forth.  The  boys  met  under 
the  street  gas-light  by  the  rambler  are  not  the  ones  who  have 
been  blessed  to  its  full  inspiration  with  a  mother's  love,  else 
they  would  be  held  away  from  the  presence  of  temptation. 


82  Under  the   Gas-Light. 


RAMBLE    XIX. 


JOURS  a«-o  the  book  of  clav  was  bound  and  closed  by  the 

O  J  v 

golden  clasp  of  sundown.  The  hot  fever-pulses  of  busi- 
ness are  cooling  under  the  balmy  hand  of  sleep.  The 
roar  of  wheels  is  hushed.  Merchant  prince,  and  pauper 
alike  are  sunk  into  forgetfulness  of  crown  and  rags.  "Old 
and  yet  ever  new  is  the  night,"  muses  the  rambler,  as  he 
glances  up  and  down  the  long  glimmering  files  of  street 
lamps,  and  looks  overhead  into  the  pomp  and  silence  of  the 
spangled  heavens.  Every  gas-light  is  a  bit  of  primeval  sun- 
shine kindled  out  of  the  coal  urn,  and  awakened  from  the 
slumber  of  a  million  years  which  carries  us  back  of  weird 
periods  of  antiquity,  and  to  times  which  left  on  the  face  of 
stone  the  delicate  footprints  of  wind  and  rain,  and  of  creatures 
long  extinct  before  ever  the  race  of  man  came  on  the  theatre 
of  action.  If  God  so  carefully  preserved  the  ripple  marks  of 
long  vanished  seas,  and  made  so  indellibly  a  record  of  rock, 
and  fossil,  and  shell,  and  stores  away  so  richly  for  man's  use 
and  comfort  immense  coal  fields,  surely,  as  we  sit  by  the  cosy 
fireside,  or  meditate  beneath  the  gas-light,  \ve  cannot  help 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  83 

lint  believe  that  He  will  regard  most  kindly  the  aspirations  of 
the  soul  tor  heaven  and  immortality,  and  will  never  forget  to 
provide  for  the  ideal  hunger  and  the  ideal  Eden.  But  whilst 
a  gas  jet  may  be  quite  suggestive,  the  twinkling  of  amethys- 
tine ether  is  so  immeasurably  grand  that  the  mind  falls  short 
in  its  effort  to  survey  and  to  span.  We  cannot  look  up  and 
study  the  illuminated  scroll  without  feeling  more  or  less  the 
mystic  chain  woven  about  the  stars  by  classic  legend  and 
mythological  fable;  and  many  of  us  fancy  we  see  beyond  a 
soul  light  that  beamed  with  such  controlling  power  along  our 
earthly  pathways.  There  was  a  fluttering  at  a  window  of 
paradise,  and  through  was  handed  a  crown  of  stars.  To-night 
those  stars  in  that  crown  are  seen  through  the  agency  of  a 
spiritual  vision.  From  their  setting  comes  a  ministration  to 
bless  and  to  cheer. 

"Angels  attend  thee!  May  their  wings 

Fun  every  shadow  from  thy  brow— 
For  only  bright  and  lovely  thing's 

Should  wait  on  one  so  good  as  thou." 

The  rambler  wanders  away  from  the  city's  limit;  seeks 
communion  with  the  spirits  that  are  in  the  air,  and  listens  to 
the  voices  that  come  from  the  formations  of  art  and  nature. 

"Hide  not  thy  tears:   weep  boldly,  and  be  proud," 

wrote  Shirley  long  years  ago,  and  to-night  from  shrub,  and 
leaf,  and  flower,  and  grave  comes  the  same  voice.  The  ram- 
bler thinks  of  the  beautiful  drama  of  Ion,  in  which  the  in- 
stinct of  immortality,  so  eloquently  uttered  by  the  dcath-de- 


84  Under  the   Gas-Light. 

voted  Greek,  finds  a  deep  response  in  every  human  soul.  It 
is  nature's  prophecy  of  the  life  to  come.  When  about  to 
yield  his  young  existence  as  a  sacrifice  .  o  fate,  his  betrothed' 
Clemanthe  asks  if  they  shall  ever  meet  again,  to  which  he 
replies:  "I  have  asked  that  dreadful  question  of  the  hills 
that  look  eternal;  of  the  flowing  streams  that  flow  forever; 
of  the  stars  among  whose  fields  my  .mind-spirit  hath  walked 
in  glory.  All  were  dumb.  But  while  I  gaze  upon  thy  living 
face  I  feel  there's  something  in  thy  love  which  mantles 
through  its  beauty  that  cannot  wholly  perish.  We  shall  meet 
again,  Clemanthe.'''' 

Nature  was  silent.  The  stars  whispered  nothing.  The 
eternal  hills  imparted  no  information,  and  the  music  of  the 
streams  that  flowed  therefrom  did  not  settle  the  question.  It 
remained  for  a  human  soul  in  its  throbbings,  in  its  swellings 
and  in  its  flowings,  to  tell  what  would  be  beyond  the  years  of 
earthly  life;  to  tell  that  the  soul  on  earth  is  but  an  immortal 
guest,  a  spark  which  nature's  force  is  pressing  upward.  As 
the  rambler  in  his  abstractions  to-night  contemplates  the  soul, 
he  concludes  that  it  is  a  pilgrim  panting  for  the  rest  to  come, 
and  in  its  sentient  existence  an  exile  on  the  shores  of  time, 
anxiously  waiting  to  be  borne  away  to  its  native  home. 

The  church  had  been  full.     Those  who  had  occupied  the 
.     pews  had  heard  words  about  the  religion  of  love,  of  brother- 
hood, and  of  charity.     Passing  from  the  sanctuary,   an    aged 
one,  on  the  side  of  life  nearest  heaven,  takes    the    rambler   by 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  85 

the  hand  and  assures  him  that  this  life  is  but  a  span  reaching 
from  mortality  to  immortality,  from  fountains  that  fail  to  foun- 
tains that  ever  flow ,  and  from  flowers  that  fade  to  flowers 
that  bloom  always.  Said  she:  "I  have  given  the  earth  my 
tears;  I  have  passed  through  the  shadows;  I  have  felt  the 
weight  of  weariness;  I  have  seen  my  jewels  pass  from  me;  I 
have  looked  at  the  heavens  when  the  clouds  seemed  unyield- 
ing, and  when  songs  of  rejoicing  had  no  charms  for  me;  but 
as  these  latter  years  have  gone  by,  with  their  record  of  sow- 
ing and  reaping,  I  have  come  to  look  beyond  this  life  with  a 
greater  interest.  In  the  ever-blooming  Eden  I  sec  more  than 
I  saw  in  my  earlier  years.  Time  has  brought  with  it  lessons 
which  I  have  learned  well,  and  they  tell  me  that  hope  does 
not  perish  when  the  flowers  of  life  fade  from  mortal  vision. 

Tramp,  tramp,  go  the  hurrying  feet.  The  choir  music  has- 
been  hushed,  and  the  rambler  goes  his  way  to  contemplate 
the  developing  realizations  of  life.  Here  and  there  are  har- 
monies never  before  beheld;  here  and  there  are  gleams  of 
heart  sunshine  never  before  felt. 


86  Under  the   Gas-L,ight. 


RAMBLE    XX. 


llHE  glare  of  the  gas-light;  viewing  the  horrors  of  a  pent 
up  city,  full  of  strifes  and  crimes;  of  heated  wretchedness 
and  feverish  pauperism ;  of  woes  of  wine  and  women, 
and  whisky-wrought  wrecks,  with  the  destruction  consequent 
upon  vice,  had  wearied- the  rambler,  and  he  concluded  to  steal 
a\\  a  v  from  the  city  and  recuperate  in  the  bree/es  of  the  purer 
atmosphere  outside,  on  a  bright  morning  of  a  new  born  day; 
to  refresh  his  tired  nature  and  throw  off  for  the  time  his  sad- 
dened reflections.  But  like  the  ghost  of  the  departed  Dane, 

"Doomed  fora  certain  time  to  walk  the  niylit. 
And  for  the  day  confined  to  fast  in  fire." 

The  rambler  had  not  selected  for  his  rambles,  fields  which 
were  to  prove  unfruitful  of  "food  for  thought." 

June  never  looked  more  beautiful.  She  had  just  risen  from 
her  rose-clad  couch  on  the  morn  of  the  twelfth  diurnal  re- 
turn of  her  birth.  The  God  of  day  smiled  sweetly  upon  this 
first-born  of  summer,  had  kissed  the  dews  from  her  brow* 
perfumed  her  floral  wardrobe  with  the  fragrant  odors  of  the 
buttercup  and  tulip,  of  the  magnolia  and  tuberose,  of  the 
wealth-laden  shrub  and  the  beautiful  lilac.  All  nature  joined 


Under  the   Gas-Liglit.  87 

in  the  smile,  and  glad  hands,  reaching  from  the  great  unseen, 
seemed  to  weave  into  the  lovely  month's  garments  of  green, 
thrown  over  her  handsome  form,  all  the  new-born  beauties 
gathered  from  her  garden.  The  rambler  experienced  the 
joys  of  a  new  life,  as  he  stood  and  listened  to  the  chorus 
of  welcome  which  greeted  lovely  June  as  she  stepped 
forth  to  sing  anthems  of  gladness  to  her  surroundings, 
and  found  himself,  Hervy-like,  in  the  "city  of  the  silent,"  and 
in  reverie  among  the  highest  monitors  denoting  the  last 
mile  stone  reached  by  the  resting  ones  in  their  travels  on  the 
highway  of  life. 

Here  he  had  gone  to  "meditate  among  the  tombs,"  to  read 
the  indented  history  of  loved  ones,  graven  in  the  pure  emblem 
of  constancy.  Here  he  had  gone  to  see  the  resting  place  of 
many  whom  he  had  painted  in  other  chapters  of  his  rambles, 
when  they  were  struggling  with  the  realities  of  earth,  full  of 
life,  of  faith,  and  of  hopes;  some  of  increasing  pleasures,  and 
others  of  pleasures  which  had  been  denied. 

Wearied  by  the  gas-light,  the  sun-light  of  such  a  morn  as 
we  have  described  was  a  delightful  change.  It  had  brought 
in  its  train,  thoughts  of  the  "sweet  bye  and  bye,"  thoughts  of 
the  "home  over  there,"  and  the  air  seemed  ladened.  with  the 
sweet  accents  of  song,  wafted  in  upon  the  bosom  of  the 
breexe,  assuring  the  rambler  that 

••There  is  a  land  that  is  fairer  than  day." 

and  a  rest  remaining  for  life's  weary  ones,  when    the   earthen 


88  Under  the   Gas-Light. 

caskets  have  pillowed  their  heads  beneath  the  mounds,  and 
the  echoing  sounds  of  the  clods  of  the  valley  have  died  away. 
Thoughts  like  these  had  possessed  the  rambler  and  wrapt 
him  in  a  re  very,  making  him  oblivious  to  the  unexpected  hu- 
man form  which  wakened  him  to  a  realization  of  the  fact, 
that  even  at  that  early  hour,  surrounded  as  he  was  by  only 
the  emblems  of  departed  loves,  with  the  air  bearing  upon  the 
gentle  zephers,  the  bird  songs  and  mingling  odors  of  a  balmy 
sweetness,  gathered  from  the  thousand  rose-tinted  tributes, 
planted  by  the  hand  of  affection  on  the  tomb  of  buried  links 
of  loveliness  once  joined  to  human  hearts  on  earth.  While 
thus  engaged,  the  rambler  was  reminded  that  there  was 
another  human  being  who,  like  himself,  had  chosen  a  mission 
of  mingled  pain  and  pleasure.  But, 

"What  do  we  sec  before  us:'' 

It  was  one  who  seemed  to  have  a  strange  history,  and  who 
happened  to  be  only  intent  on  the  discovery  of  the  something 
which,  no  doubt,  had  contributed  largely  in  bending  his  form 
and  matting  the  hair,  hanging  in  a  strange  disheveled  order 
over  features  still  retaining  the  stamp  of  the  God-like.  His 
face  had  been  moulded  in  one  of  nature's  handsomest  forms. 

•  "The  front  of  Jove  himself; 

An  eye  like  Mars,  to  threaten  anil  command; 
A  station  like  the  herald  Mercury 
Xew-lig-hted  on  a  heaven-kissing  hill: 

A  combination  and  a  form,  indeed, 

\Vhcre  every  (iod  did  set  his  seal, 
To  jfivc  the  world  assurance  of  a  man." 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  89 

The  nimbler  sauntered  on  after  the  bent  form  and  watched 
the  wild-eyed  intruder.  With  that  anxious  gaze  resting  on 
a  row  of  little  graves,  and  lifting  the  fallen  locks  from  before 
the  eye  of  wrinkled  and  decrepit  age,  this  old  man  sat  down 
at  the  root  of  a  tree.  As  we  passed,  his  eyes  moistened  with 
sorrow,  turned  to  those  of  the  rambler.  "How,"  said 
the  rambler,  "are  these  little  mounds  related  to  thine  own 
history  ?"  Ah,  friend !"  said  the  old  man,  in  a  husky  and 
tremulous  voice,  "this  is  a  pilgrimage  just  ended,  which  I  fear 
will  never  be  repeated  by  me.  There  is  a  historic  volume  in 
those  few  chapters  you  see  spread  out  before  us,  the  narration 
of  which  would  fill  other  and  larger  books  than  either  of  us 
will  ever  live  to  peruse,  and  I  scarce  have  time  to  index,  al- 
though familiar,  :-adly  familiar,  with  every  page." 

There  was  a  sad  something  stealing  over  the  rambler,  ex- 
acting a  deep  interest  to  know  the  history  of  the  old  man's- 
blighted  life.  How  the  rambler  induced  him  to  give  it  in 
brief  he  will  never  divulge,  but  here  it  is,  in  a  nutshell. 

These  little  mounds  had  been  made  by  the  demands  of 
death  upon  the  domestic  hearth.  When  the  loved  forms  they 
contain  had  been  laid  there,  crazed  with  grief,  after  the  hopes 
built  in  their  future  had  been  shattered  and  scattered,  he 
sought  ease  to  a  troubled  mind  and  worn  body  in  the  glass. 
It  was  not  a  grievous  departure  from  the  path  of  rectitude, 
but  it  served  as  a  text  for  repeated  upbraidings  instead  of  per- 
suadings;  of  taunts  instead  of  tenderness;  of  a  driving  ofV 


90  Under  the   Gas-Light. 

instead  of  a  drawing  towards  the  erring  one.  Like  the  wear 
of  the  constant  drop  on  the  stone,  it  wore  away  the  stout 
heart  and  made  inroads  on  its  affections,  until  the  little  cloud 
of  domestic  trouhle  grew  large  and  overhung  the  household 
in  a  grief  greater  than  that  made  through  death.  Bickerings 
had  been  buoyed  to  the  harbor  of  a  home  by  busy  tongues, 
until  distrust  had  displaced  constancy.  The  motives  of  a 
kindly  nature  had  been  impugned  and  blackened  by  the  finger- 
marks of  envy ;  and  the  purest  emotions  of  universal  brother- 
hood toward  the  distressed  had  been  poisoned  in  the  imagina- 
tion of  her  who  should  have  been  the  last  to  believe  the 
breathings  of  distrust.  What  a  sad  lesson  of  life  to  learn  by 
the  rambler  in  a  grave  yard. 

"On  him,  on  him!  look  \ou 
How  pale  he  glares! 
His  form  and  cause  conjoined, 
Preaching  to  stones, 
Would  make  them  capable." 


Under  the   Gas- Light.  91 


RAMBLE    XXI. 

"Why  is  it  that  the  sweetest  songs 

Must  ever  have  a  mournful  strain, 
And  music's  tones  to  touch  the  heart 

Must  echo  with  a  sad  refrain? 

Why  is  it  when  our  loved  ones  go 

Reluctant,  to  a  world  unseen, 
Xo  message  comes  to  us  who  wait, 

This  side  the  grave  that  lies  between? 

Why  do  we  ask?    The  Gods  are  dumb; 

And  in  our  lives  such  mysteries  lie, 
That  blindly  stumble  through  the  vears, 

We  wondering  live  and  wondering  die." 

I  I|HROUGH  the  air  comes  a  sad  refrain.  The  tones  of  a 
'  ?  spiritual  music  touch  the  heart.  They  issue  from  a 
|  [l  throne  of  love,  and  fall  amid  a  group  of  shadows.  'Tis 
midnight's  holy  hour,  and  round  about  hovers  a  pulseless 
silence.  The  rambler  gazes  upon  a  bud  of  the  morning  that 
has  been  struggling  to  bloom.  In  this  bud  is  a  fragrance  of 
boundless  scope,  but  it  will  not  tarry  amid  the  thorns  that 
have  existence  here  and  there  alongside  the  rocks  and  oaks  of 
earth.  Its  perfume  is  too  gentle,  too  delicately  sweet  to  attain 
to  a  force  amid  the  storms  of  life.  There  is  a  love  for  that 
bud  and  a  desire  in  a  human  heart  to  see  it  open  into  vigor 
and  beautv,  to  see  its  progress  extend  and  permeate  through 


92  Under  the   Gas-Light. 

the  avenues  of  the  affections,  but  those  desires  are  not  to  be 
attained.  The  Court  of  the  skies,  whose  wisdom  is  as  bound- 
less as  the  universe,  whispers  along  the  path  of  perishing 'life: 
"It  is  not  well  that  every  bud  should  open  to  bloom."  From 
the  inward  temple  there  was  a  brief  looking-out.  The  win- 
dows of  the  soul  threw  forth  a  light  but  for  a  brief  period' 
The  hand  of  an  eternal  ministry  beckoned,  and  along  the  path- 
way of  the  stars  there  came  an  angel  and  gathered  it  up  and 
carried  it  away. 

"May  be  these  earthly  loves  are  too  fervent;  that  they  too 
much  divert  the  heart  from  the  Eternal  majesty,"  were  the 
words  that  fell  upon  the  rambler's  ears  as  he  stood  ga/ing  into 
distance  and  vacancy.  "No,  that  cannot  be."  The  rambler 
had  been  taught  by  the  masters  of  the  world's  most  profound 
philosophy  that  the  affections  of  the  human  heart  could  not 
be  too  strong.  Man  loves  a  flower,  but  it  does  not  fade  be- 
cause of  that  love.  The  power  of  affection  rests  upon  a  ten" 
dril,  and  avoids  the  rugged  conditions  of  creation,  and  for 
this  God  does  not  become  angry.  Moral  teaching  points  to 
God  as  a  God  of  love,  and  profound  philosophy  would  sav 
that  God  was  best  adored  when  the  teachings  of  his  creative 
hand  were  followed  dy  a  deep  devotion. 

"Where  ;ire  now  the  flowers  we  'tended: 
Withered,  broken,  branch  and  stem." 

These  loves  are  robed  in  everlasting  beauty,  and  have  gath- 
ered about  them  a  light  that  will  never  warn-. 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  9 

YVhnt  mean  those  tears?  No  answer  conies.  In  looking 
on  the  autumn  fields  of  life  tears  rise  in  the  heart,  thinking  of 
the  days  that  are  no  more,  and  through  these  are  traced  a 
smooth  ascent  from  earth  to  heaven.  Tears  are  the  commas 
of  the  soul.  They  beautify  its  language  and  make  powerful 
the  expression.  Analyze  them  and  you  have  a  poem ;  a 
beam ;  a  flower. 

N.  P.  Willis  said  of  Tom.  Moore,  "the  light  that  surrounds 
him  is  all  from  within."  Such  light  is  the  best  in  the  world. 
It  has  in  it  the  radiance  of  immortality,  the  gleam  of  a  soul 
that  will  not  die.  Through  an  open  window  the  rambler 
beheld  such  a  light  a  while  ago.  It  wasn't  the  light  that 
flashes  from  a  mind  of  genius,  or  that  rises  from  the  incense 
of  philosophy,  but  the  light  of  a  soul,  full  of  worship  for  jus- 
tice, full  of  adoration  for  mercy,  and  full  of  love  for  love. 
Music  and  song  came  through  and  filled  the  evening  breexes 
with  a  harmony,  and  told  the  rambler  that  the  best  condition 
of  human  life  was  when  the  soul  could  throw  a  stream  of 
light  from  within,  and  could  appear  as  a  flower  bathed  in  a 
sunbeam,  and  with  the  freshness  of  a  lilv  watered  with 
morning  dew. 

"My  son,  let  your  sympathies  always  go  out  to  the  man  or 
bov  who  is  down.  Help  the  weak  against  the  strong."  The 
words  were  full  of  the  soul  of  humanity.  It  was  the  express- 
ion of  a  nourished  goodness,  the  outflowing  of  the  best  re- 
ligion known  to  human  thought  and  affection.  "  Pitv  the  lit- 


94  Under  the   Gas-Light. 

tie  birds  that  flutter  in  distress,  and  waste  not  your  affections 
on  the  eagle  who  sweeps  in  his  royal  power  above  moun- 
tain cliff;  and  be  tender  to  the  vines  and  flowers  twining  and 
blooming  along  the  pathways  of  nature's  garden ;  and  trouble 
not  about  the  oak  that  can  defy  the  storm  and  the  elemental  fu- 
ries." These  were  the  admonitions,  and  then  the  heart  swell- 
ed into  a  melody : 

"Oh  child,  sweet  child,  how  happy  I'll  he 

If  the  good  God  let  thec  stay  with  me, 

Till  later  on  in  life's  evening-  hour 

Thy  strength  shall  by  mv  strength  and  tower." 

Here  was  an  expression  of  solicitude;  a  mature  life  longing 
for  the  growth  and  clevelopement  of  "a  twig  in  infant  rig"  to 
a  strength  and  power.  It  was  the  breathing  of  a  soul  upon  a 
plant  and  flower  of  life  and  light.  The  scene  was  that  of  a 
happy  home.  It  was  the  shelter  of  infancy,  the  playground 
of  childhood,  the  dwelling-place  of  manhood,  the  abode  of 
pleasure,  the  temple  of  peace,  and  the  nursery  and  -stronghold 
of  virtue.  Here  was  the  inspiration  of  courage,  the  swelling 
of  a  heart  that  possessed  power  and  comprehension. 

"Let  every  fellow  look  out  for  himself!"  is  an  expression 
the  sound  of  which  falls  upon  the  rambler's  ears.  Reflecting, 
the  conclusion  is  reached  that  these  were  harsh  words.  Look- 
ing out  for  oneself,  rugged  paths  are  found.  A  long  time  ago 
when  the  race  was  but  in  its  infancv  this  question  was  asked : 
"Am  I  mv  brother's  keeper?"  From  that  morning  of  human 
existence  down  across  the  aircs  the  answer  has  been  jriven  : 


Under  the   Gas-LigJit.  0,5 

'"You  arc  your  brother's  keeper."  Deep  clown  in  the  soul's 
sanctuary  man  rinds  the  answer,  and  as  a  result  many  a  gloom 
has  been  dispelled,  and  many  a  shadow  driven  away.  The 
consciousness  man  has  that  he  is  his  brother's  keeper,  is 
the  inspiration  of  a  divine  impulse,  and  the  outgrowth  of  an 
immortal  principle.  In  it  is  centered  the  blossom  of  hope 
and  the  spring  of  charity.  Negative  the  question,  and  the 
world  would  become  a  wilderness,  peopled  with  a  selfish  bar- 
barism. 

"Its  none  of  vour  business  what  course  I  pursue,"  says  a 
voimg  man,  and  then  hurries  on  his  way.  He  had  not  grasp- 
ed and  comprehended  the  philosophies  of  life:  had  not  an- 
alyzed its  warp  and  woof.  How  few  reach  the  solution  of  the 
problem.  Man  courts  the  ministries  of  a  large  humanity  and 
yet  forgets  that  he  is  a  dependent  being.  Sympathy  is  a  solace 
when  distress  comes,  and  a  song  of  redeeming  love  is  a  healing 
benediction  when  the  inward  affections  are  in  tumult,  and  yet 
man  continues  to  say :  "Let  every  fellow  take  care  of  him- 
self," and  to  ask  the  question:  "Am  I  my  brother's  keeper?" 


96  Under  the   Gas-Light. 


RAMBLE    XXII 


"  What  is  time'" 

I  ask  of  an  aj^ed  man  with  hoary  hairs. 
Wrinkled  and  curved  with  worldly  cares: 
"Time  is  the  warp  of  life,"  said  he.  "().  tell 
The  young,  the  fair  the  gay,  to  weave  it  well." 

I  asked  the  ancient,  venerable  dead, 
Sajjes  who  wrote,  and  warriors  who  bled : 
From  the  cold  grave  :i  hollow  murmur  flowed. 
"Time  sowed  the  seed  we  reap  in  this  abode." 

I  I|HE  rambler,  through  shadow  and  glare,  since  last  he  was 
"  ?  under  the  gaslight,  has  seen  much  of  the  weaving  of  the 
|  fj  warp  of  life — some  with  care,  and  some  with  indiffer- 
ence. Golden  threads  gilded  with  the  tears  from  an  inward 
altar  have  been  utilized,  and  time  in  its  passing  has  gathered 
the  incense,  bearing  it  away  to  the  heaven  of  eternal  love. 

It  was  on  the  night  before  decoration  day.  The  rambler, 
under  the  power  of  an  invisible  influence,  entered  the  location 
from  where  go  up  the  fragrance  of  flowers;  where  beam  the 
soul's  best  light,  and  from  where  emanates  the  heart's  best 
ministry  of  love.  There  was  witnessed  a  gathering  of  the 
testimonials  of  affection  to  be  strewn  upon  the  graves  of  the 
men  who  sacrificed  their  lives  that  a  nation  might  live;  who 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  97 

poured  out  their  life-blood,  all  warm  from  the  heart,  that  de- 
mocracy might  be  established  as  the  governmental  philoso- 
phy of  modern  civilization,  and  who,  as  they  went  down, 
preached  each  in  his  death : 

"My  angel — his  name  is  Freedom. 

Choose  him  to  be  your  king ; 
I  le  shall  cut  pathways  East  and  West, 

And  fend  you  with  his  wing— " 

and  who,  profiting  by  the  past  condition  of  the  race,  said  in 
their  sacrifice : 

"We  will  have  never  a  noble, 

Xo  lineag-e  counted  great : 
Fishers,  and  choppers,  and   ploughmen, 

Shall  constitute  a  State." 

Maidens  with  flowers,  when  associated  in  the  mind  with 
heroes  and  heroic  memories,  form  a  worthy  picture.  Fifteen, 
sixteen  and  seventeen  years  ago  the  men  whom  they  would 
honor  passed  from  human  presence.  Those  who  to-night 
are  arranging  the  flowers  to  carry  as  offerings  to  their  graves, 
many  of  them  God  breathed  into  the  world  since  that  period. 
They  comprehend  not  the  magnitude  of  that  struggle,  nor 
the  vitalized  issues  involved;  yet  they  know  that  these  men 
acted  a  grandly  heroic  part  in  their  time  of  life,  and  that  their 
spirits  left  their  bodies  in  a  brilliant  blaze  of  glory. 

An  old  soldier  approaches  a  maiden  fair,  and  as  she  stoops 
over  a  bed  of  May  flowers,  he  says:  "  Bright  face,  when  you 
\\  as  a  baby  girl  (I  remember  it  well)  your  father  was  a  sol- 


98  Under  the    Gas-Liglit . 

dier  in  the  Tennessee  legion.  The  battle  came,  and  then  he 
marched  and  fought,  and  bravely  died." 

"Yes;  and  I'll  kneel  at  his  grave  to-morrow,  and  offer  a 
flowery  incense  to  his  name  and  to  his  memory,  mingled  with 
the  tears  of  love  and  affection." 

How  happy  the  reflection  that  memory  does  not  grow  old, 
and  that  tears  do  not  cease  their  flowing  when  linked  with 
the  heroic  periods  of  human  life.  Valor  is  not  forgotten.  It 
is  the  essence  of  our  civilization,  our  Christianity  and  our  de- 
mocracy. 

Had  these  men  faltered,  the  republic  would  have  declined, 
and  the  flag — emblem  of  political  unity — would  have  been 
rent  to  extinction.  They  were  brave.  Their  fibres  were  of 
Anglo-Saxon  quality,  and  their  blood  the  most  royal  of  the 
earth,  and  up  went  civilization — up  went  Christianity.  Those 
who  handle  flowers  are  at  the  farthest  extreme  from  barbar- 
ism. They  possess  the  soul  of  deity.  Select  a  jury  from 
them,  and  mercy  and  salvation  will  characterize  their  verdict. 
The  hand  that  guards  and  cares  for  them  will  never  be  raised 
in  malice  against  either  friend  or  foe.  The  offices  of  flowers 
are  the  most  graceful  in  the  economy  of  nature.  They  go 
with  us  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave.  They  crown  the  mar- 
riage altar  and  adorn  its  feasts.  Thev  bloom  around  the  si- 
lent tomb,  and  smile  upon  the  angels  out  from  Heaven.  Their 
"reath  is  of  a  magical  perfume,  and  recalls,  in  the  hours 
of  weariness,  long  past  memories.  A  withered  rose,  a 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  99 

pressed  hud,  or  leaf  of  a  lily  saved  from  a  casket,  is  a  connect-' 
ing  link  which  makes  life  more  beautiful,  recalling  the  "ten- 
der grace  of  a  day  that  is  dead,"  and  of  a  memory  that  will 
not  perish,  and  these  are  the  golden  threads  in  the  warp  of 
life. 

A  churl — a  cold-blooded  exhibition  of  creation — passing  by 
wants  to  know  what  good  those  flowers  will  do?  He  fails 
to  comprehend  their  tender  agency.  If  he  had  been  called  to 
see  a  baby  flower  kiss  its  mother  ere  she  died  he  would  have 
laughed  derisively.  To  him  the  thought  would  not  have 
suggested  a  poetical  gem,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  a  cold  ma- 
terialism. His  warp  of  life  is  taking  in  threads  that  yield  no 
harmony.  The  combination  is  composed  of  rigidly  abstract 
elements.  He  reads  no  language  on  the  leaves  of  the  lily, 
and  recognizes  no  soul  in  nature.  To  him  it  is  a  blank,  devoid 
of  a  mission  and  without  a  ministry.  Over  him  tears  have  no 
influence,  and  the  power  of  love  fails  to  obtain  in  his  life  a 
jurisdiction.  These  are  comprehended  as  elements  of  weak- 
ness. 

When  the  little  child  of  fragile  form  watched  the  dew 
drops  on  a  cluster  of  roses,  and  asked  from  whence  they  came, 
it  was  told  that  they  came  from  heaven,  and  then  the  ques- 
tion was:  "Will  they  ever  die?"  Even  then  these  dew 
drops  from  the  fountains  of  paradise  were  being  lost  in  the 
vitali/ation  of  the  flowers.  Ere  the  answer  was  "riven,  the 


loo  Under  the   Gas- Light, 

spirit  of  the  child  was  in  heaven.  The  churl  would  say  here 
was  a  false  education  and  perverted  imagination — the  spirit- 
ual lingering  of  the  child  to  dwell  upon  dew  drops  and  flow- 
ers; but  the  student  of  the  world's  best  philosophy  will  bear 
evidence  that  this  child's  warp  of  life  was  golden-threaded, 
and  happily  commenced  in  the  weaving. 


Under  the  Gas-Light.  ioi 


RAMBLE    XXIII. 


"  Only  waiting  till  the  shadows 

Are  a  little  longer  grown, 
Only  waiting-  till  the  glimmer 
Of  the  day's  last  beam  is  flown. 

Till  the  night  of  earth  is  faded 

From  the  heart  once  full  of  day, 
Till  the  stars  of  heaven  :ye  breaking 

Through  the  twilight  soft  and  gray. 

Then  from  out  the  gathered  darkness, 

Holy,  deathless  stars  shall  rise, 
Hv  whose  light  mv  soul  shall  gladly 

Tread  its  pathway  to  the  skies." 

|NLY  waiting,"  were  the  words  that  fell  upon  the  ram- 
bler's ear  as  the  evening  shadows  were  falling.  It  was 
the  utterance  of  an  aged  pilgrim  on  the  decline  side  of 
life.  He  was  looking  away  to  see  if  he  could  catch  a  glimpse 
of  the  reapers  coming  to  reap  the  last  ripe  fruits  of  his  heart. 
The  summer  time  of  his  life  had  faded,  and  round  about  him 
were  blowing  the  soul's  autumn  winds.  He  seemed  eager  to 
hear  the  rustle  of  wings,  and  to  commune  with  spiritual  min- 
istries. He  had  fought  his  fight,  had  struggled  his  struggle, 
had  acted  his  act,  and  played  his  play.  "  The  yesterdays  of 
life  seem  now  to  have  passed  rapidly,"  observed  the  aged 


IO2  Under  the   Gas-Light. 

pilgrim.  "  The  to-morrows  will  be  hut  few."  "  The  after- 
dawn  will  soon  he  reached,  and  then  the  yesterdays  and  the 
to-morrows  will  never  more  he  considered.'1''  The  morning, 
the  noon,  and  the  evening  will  he  a  blended  unity.  The  day 
will  he  an  endless  scroll,  encircling  an  eternity  of  years  filled 
with  an  eternity  of  stars.  Old  age!  the  evening  of  life,  the 
setting  of  the  sun*  over  a  plain  that  has  been  traversed,  the 
gleaming  of  the  stars  over  the  twilight  of  a  mortal  existence 
causes  the  rambler  to  pause  and  contemplate  the  scene.  Four 
score  years  of  life  are  rare  in  these  latter  days.  Along 
the  line  of  the  generations  such  a  span  of  time  rests  upon 
marked  characters.  One  would  scarcely  look  under  the 
gleam  of  the  gas-light,  at  the  midnight  hour,  for  an  existence 
of  physical  and  mental  power  that  had  struggled  and  con- 
tended with  opposing  forces  for  eighty  years.  The  rambler 
rinds  such  an  one,  and  'tis  he  who  under  the  eternal  empire 
of  the  stars  breathes  the  language : 

"  Only  waiting  till  the  shadows 
A  iv  a  little  longer  jri  cm  n." 

"  then  I  will  enter  the  eternal  morning  amid  the  music  of 
larks  and  the  perfume  of  flowers/1 

"  Why  are  you  out  upon  the  streets  at  such  an  hour  as 
this?"  was  asked  this  landmark  of  the  century.  "I  love  to 
roam  amid  silence.  I  love  to  commune  where  I  can  hear 
nothing  but  the  flutter  of  a  leaf,"  yvas  his  reply.  He  was  a 
man  who  had  heard  the  great  noises  of  two  •'•enerations. 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  103 

The  hum  of  a  nation's  civilization  had  been  parallel  with  his 
life.  The  roar  of  battle  from  the  fields  of  three  wars  had 
fallen  upon  his  cars.  When  he  was  born  thunderbolts  played  in 
the  heavens  uncontrolled.  He  had  seen  them  snatched  from 
the  skies  and  tamed.  He  had  seen  them  converted  into  an 
agency  reaching  forth  to  gather  up  the  scattered  records  of 
the  world's  civilization.  He  lived  when  philosophy  was 
chained,  and  has  lived  to  see  it  unfettered.  He  lived  when 
man  was  confined  to  restricted  lines,  and  has  lived  to  see  him 
leap  across  them.  He  lived  when  the  defenders  of  creeds 
said  to  brain  and  genius,  u  curb  thyself,"  and  has  lived  to  see 
brain  and  genius  looking  into  the  vast  future  to  tell  the  mo- 
tion of  the  heavenly  bodies  for'  a  thousand  years,  and  to  enter 
a  drop  of  water  to  behold  a  myriad  of  created  things  with  a 
throbbing  life.  He  has  lived  to  see  this  same  brain-power 
penetrate  the  invisible  and  mysterious  to  reveal  more  of  God, 
more  of  His  majesty,  goodness  ;uul  mercy  than  independent 
ironclad  theology  has  revealed  since  time  began.  He  had 
lived  when  defenders  of  creeds,  backed  by  an  imperial  power, 
said  to  man,  "think  as  we  think,'1'' and  lias  lived  to  hear  imperial 
man  say,  "I  will  think  as  I  please."  He  had  heard  the  creed 
worshippers  say,  "bow  beneath  this  iron  rod,"  and  has  lived 
to  see  those  same  iron  rods  superseded  by  the  cords  of  love 
and  brotherhood;  lias  seen  them  taken  awav,  and  round 
about  them  twine  the  ivy  of  affection  and  grace,  and  over 
them  bloom  the  Mowers  of  love  and  peace.  The  veteran  of 


1 04  Under  the   Gas-Light. 

many  years  and  the  victor  of  many  a  royal  battle,  from  his 
position  under  the  awning,  gazes  quietly  upward  through  the 
overhanging  branches  of  a  shade  tree.  The  tramp  of  feet 
along  the  walk  makes  him  restless.  His  wish  is  to  be  alone. 
To  the  rambler  he  said :  "  My  friend,  there  is  a  memory  that 
is  not  dead.  I  behold  with  a  sentient  power  a  picture  that  is 
beautiful.  It  was  for  years  as  fresh  and  bright  as  a  morning 
rose  bathed  in  morning  dew.  Then  one  dreary  morning  the 
picture  faded.  It  had  a  spirit  which  passed  away,  a  soul 
which  went  to  God.  The  memory  of  that  beauty  has,  since 
that  morning,  been  regal  in  its  dominion.  The  influence  of 
that  spirit,  so  sweet,  so  gentle,  so  strong,  has  been  felt 
through  all  the  passing  years.  The  soul  of  that  beauty  had 
a  wondrous  scope."  It  knew  no  creed,  no  lines  of  demarka- 
tion,  and  no  class;  it  reckoned  no  nobility  save  the  nobility  of 
virtue,  no  prince  save  the  prince  of  manhood,  and  no  queen 
save  the  queen  of  womanhood.  It  was  a  fountain  of  inspira- 
tion, a  well-spring  of  love,  ever  flowing,  bearing  cheer  and 
benediction.  Looking  at  a  distant  star,  he  seemed  to  say : 
u  This  memory  long  past  comes  crowding  over  my  aged 
brain."  Though  many  years  had  flown  with  their  lights  and 
shadows,  the  recollection  of  that  heart,  which  had,  in  the 
early  spring  time  of  young  life,  been  called  to  assume  a  con- 
dition of  immortality,  still  haunted  him,  but  like  some  glad 
melody.  His  memory,  as  a  tomb-searcher,  swept  through 
the  avenues  of  the  past,  and  lifted  here  and  there  a  shroud 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  105 

which  had  been  thrown  over  buried  hopes.  Into  the  vases 
where  the  roses  of  life  and  love  had  been  distilled,  he  pene- 
trated to  find  that  there  still  lingered  a  fragrance. 

••  Let  fate  do  her  worst,  there  are  moments  of  joy, 
Bright  dreams  of  the  past  which  she  cannot  destroy ; 
Which  come  in  the  night  time  of  sorrow  and  care, 
And  bring  hack  the  features  that  joy  used  to  wear." 

And  now  he  was  only  waiting  for  the  shadows  to  become 
a  little  longer  grown,  that  he  might  bid  them  adieu  and  fol- 
low that  star  and  go  to  that  picture,  that  beauty,  that  heart, 
that  soul,  that  love-  -that  inspiration  of  his  summer  years. 


106  Under  the   Gas-Light. 


RAMBLE    XXIV. 


jIGHT  has  far  advanced.  The  noise  coming  from  the 
tramp  of  feet  has  receded,  and  yet  the  gas-light  gleams 
and  glitters.  In  an  out-of-the-way  retreat,  far  removed 
from  the  presence  of  faith,  and  hope,  and  charity,  the  rambler 
finds  his  way.  Looking  up  from  the  dismal  scene  he  be- 
holds the  light  from  distant  stars  flowing  that  way  as  freely 
as  along  the  path  that  leads  to  the  center  of  thought,  of 
wealth,  and  of  power.  It  is  a  place  out  of  the  range  of  cas- 
ual observation.  Round  about  appear  ruins,  ruins  of  decayed 
life,  blasted  hopes,  and  troubled  and  restless  spirits.  The 
social  philosopher  could  not  enter  here  without  finding  prob- 
lems for  solution.  The  Christian  would  contemplate  with 
dismay,  and  faith  be  put  into  a  condition  of  trembling,  and  the 
call  would  be  made  for  labor  and  for  prayer.  The  sinner 
would  stand  in  dread  and  look  out  and  wonder  in  his  soul 
where  linger  the  forces  of  salvation,  the  followers  of  the  Re- 
deemer. Want  is  regal  in  its  sway,  and  the  spirit  of  desper- 
ation the  permeating  influence,  That  there  may  be  freedom 
from  care  and  the  responsibilities  of  life,  deliverance  from 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  107 

thought  and  the  monitions  of  an  inward  agency,  drunkenness, 
debauch  and  revelry,  are  made  to  sweep,  with  a  relentless 
fury  through  the  shattered  frames  of  mortality.  Here,  for 
the  intoxication  of  the  sentient  powers,  man  gives  the  body 
of  his  wife  and  child  for  defilement.  And  this  in  a  Christian 
community.  While  these  things  go  on,  "  in  tasseled  pulpits 
gay  and  fine,"  men  combat  the  growing  developments  of 
modern  rationalism.  While  in  yonder  haunt  is  being  accumu- 
lated dead  matter  from  bones  that  have  become  -powerless 
for  action,  the  doctors  of  divinity  charge  forth  into  the  realm 
of  the  great  philosophies,  where  the  fountains  of  tears  do  not 
flow  for  the  lowly  ones  who  are  famishing,  and  passing 
away  under  the  shadow  of  blight,  and  whose  hopes  and  ex- 
pectations have  been  wrecked  into  lifelessness.  The  rambler 
beholds  a  scene  of  impurity,  riot,  comfortless  shelter,  and  evil 
in  its  lowest  and  most  degraded  form.  Here  comes  no  joyous 
day  of  labor,  or  night  of  peaceful  rest,  and  no  expectations  of  a 
better  time.  Here  move  in  the  deadness  of  reality  those  who 
have  been  pushed  to  the  wall  by  the  pomp  and  pride  of  the 
rich,  who  have  been  tempted  to  ruin  by  the  splendors  of  folly, 
and  who  have  been  seared  and  maimed  by  the  wheel  of 
the  idol's  car,  beneath  which  they  had  fallen  under  the 
weight,  maybe,  of  the  imperious  and  cruel  hand  of  power. 
Gazing  at  life  they  grew  desperate,  and  settled  into  a  cold, 
cheerless  infidelity,  around  which  no  flowers  bloom  and  no 
mercies  of  the  soul  shine.  It  is  a  sad  fate — a  bitter  expcri- 


loS  Under  the   Gas-Light. 

ence.  Thoughts  of  God,  of  Heaven,  of  home  and  its  best 
and  purest  realities — of  its  buds,  and  blooms,  and  stars,  have 
gone  out  into  the  rayless  and  cheerless  shadows  of  oblivion. 
Here  were  being  enacted  tragedies  in  which  life  was  fading, 
and  love,  with  all  its  holy  offices,  was  perishing.  Violations 
were  seen  on  every  hand,  closely  followed  by  penalties  severe 
and  dire.  The  ruling  king  was  want  and  woe,  and  life  un- 
der the  ban  of  such  a  power,  with  love  crucified  upon  the  al- 
tar of  sin,  beneath  which  slumber  the  fires  of  a  consuming 
wrath,  must  be  short  and  desperate  to  the  terrible  end.  Such 
battles  and  such  crucifixions  are  not  confined  alone  to  the  ob- 
scure retreats,  but  in  the  localities  where  gleam  the  gas-light, 
is  as  much  perishing.  The  music  is  more  harmonious  and 
the  presentments  more  gilded,  but  beneath  exists  a  cruelly 
relentless  fury.  There  is  here  no  blooming  of  the  soul,  no 
visible  heart  jewels.  There  is  no  child  .presence.  The  buds 
and  flowers  of  affection  have  been  blasted.  The  names  of 
mother  and  wife  are  not  uttered.  These,  the  sweetest  words 
of  the  heart  and  tongue,  are  eminently  Christian,  and  gladly 
do  we  note,  are  not  profaned  in  ungodly  temples.  Their  ut- 
terance suggests  a  condition  of  elevation,  and  a  surrounding 
not  composed  of  the  fiery  weapons  of  destruction.  Turning 
away,  the  rambler  concluded  that  here  should  be  elevated  the 
cross,  and  the  gospel  of  redemption  preached.  Passing  from 
the  dismal,  heartless  presentment,  the  gas-light  region  is 
reached.  Though  the  midnight  hour  has  far  passed,  silence 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  109 

is  not  maintained.     Slumber  has  not  embraced  all  of  life. 

Behind  a  curtain  ajar  there  burns  a  light.  Near  by  are 
seen  two  sleepless  eyes.  There  is  a  soul  in  them  that  has  be- 
come wearv — not  dead,  but  only  weary. 

••  \\~L-  purt — no  matter  how  we  p;irt. 

There  are  some  thoughts  we  utter  not: 
Deep  treasured  in  our  inmost  heart, 
Xever  revealed  and  ne'er  forsjot." 

It  contained  a  volume,  and  may  be  of  soul  tragedy.  Deep 
do  the  philosophies  of  life  carry  us  all  if  we  but  follow  them. 
Lest  we  become  bewildered  we  will  pass  to  a  place  of  security. 
Two  little  faces  meet  the  rambler's  gaze,  and  the  influence 
that  comes  from  them  causes  him  to  forget  the  rocks  upon 
which  men  perish,  and  to  throw  aside  the  infidelities  which 
rise  to  trouble  and  darken  the  soul,  and  to  dwell  alone  upon 
the  faiths  and  hopes,  as  seen  in  the  couch  of  nestling  inno- 
cence. Here  is  no  wreck  and  ruin.  Round  about  this  pres- 
ence lingers  no  consuming  fire,  no  devouring  force,  nothing 
but  radiant  hope  and  comfort. 


no  Under  the   Gas-Light. 


RAMBLE    XXV 


P  I|HE  daughter  was  struggling  in  the  battle  of  life.  For 
1  |>  some  time  she  had  been  contending  with  adverse  winds. 
(  fl  Along  her  pathway  had  seemed  to  be  more  rough  places 
than  smooth  ones.  From  the  skies,  above  where  she  had 
been  walking,  there  appeared  to  fall  less  star-light  than  at 
other  places  of  human  activity.  Her  language  seemed  to  be 

"  I  will  bear  it  with  all  the  tender  sufferance  of  a  friend, 
As  calmly  as  the  wounded  patient  bears 
The  artist's  hand  that  ininisters  his  cares." 

It  did  not  make  her  cold  a&  a  cathedral  tower  upon  a  Jan- 
uary night.  Her  heart  was  a  flame  of  love  and  filial  affection, 
breathing,  as  became  a  child,  the  incense  of  duty.  In  her 
young  life  there  appeared  before  her  one  whose  name  she 
bore  saying  with  Milton  : 

"O  dark,  dark,  dark,  amid  the  blaze  of  noon : 
Irrevocably  dark!  total  eclipse. 
Without  all  hope  of  day," 

But  while  he  could  not  see  a  light  she  made  him  feel  that 
there  was  one  near  about  him.  While  he  could  not  behold 
the  Mowers  of  the  garden  and  field  she  made  him  know  that 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  1 1 1 

near  at  hand  was  ever  breathing  a  flowery  fragrance,  and 
until  he  passed  over  the  river  into  that  realm  where  no  eyes 
are  ever  covered  with  a  cloud,  she  made  his  pathway  smooth 
by  the  friction  of  her  heart  against  his  as  he  passed  along, 
bound  for  the  country  where  all  eyes  see  the  flowers,  behold 
the  rustle  of  the  leaves,  and  can  view  the  birds  fluttering 
their  wings  in  the  midst  of  their  concerts  of  song.  When 
this  duty  was  ended,  wrhen  she  had  clone  what  she  could, 
prompted  by  a  child's  affection,  she  continued  in  the  battle  of 
life,  where  she  is  an  actor  to-day.  By  her  energy  she  suc- 
ceeded in  gaining  a  title  to  an  earthly  portion.  Through  the 
force  of  circumstances  she  had  to  borrow  two  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars  to  meet  a  claim.  To  secure  this  money  she  un- 
fortunately came  in  contact  with  a  Shylock,  a  beast  in  human 
form,  a  grasping,  soulless  ghoul — one  who  sneered  at  the  vir- 
tue of  charity,  and  was  utterly  powerless  to  comprehend  any- 
thing redeeming  in  heroic  struggle.  A  being  fluttering  in 
distress  was  unable  to  awaken  in  his  breast  a  feeling  of  sym- 
pathy. The  chirp  of  a  bird  with  wounded  wing  could  not 
attract  his  attention — could  not  touch  a  heart  string.  Tears 
to  him  were  material  only,  and  in  them  he  was  utterly  inca- 
pable of  beholding  a  soul.  In  fact,  he  knew  nothing  about  a 
soul.  Possessing  a  credit  that  was  false,  and  sailing  under 
colors  not  his  right,  he  said  to  the  child  of  struggle:  "Give 
me  twenty -five  dollars  and  "  I  will  secure  vou  a  loan  of  two 
hundred  and  fifty  dollars  at  ten  per  cent."  The  demand  was 


1 1 2  Under  the   Gas-LigJit. 

complied  with,  and  the  loan,  defended  by  a  cut-throat  mort- 
gage, was  secured.  Time  went  on,  and  the  man'from  whom 
the  money  had  been  obtained  expressed  a  willingness  to  let 
the  loan  continue  as  long  as  desired.  By  and  by  there  came 
to  the  half-orphaned  .girl  a  notice  that  Mr.  A.  wanted  his 
money  by  such  a  time.  Then  followed  distress.  A  hard 
place  in  the  battle  of  life  had  bean  reached;  but,  undaunted, 
the  ill-blowing  tempest  was  faced.  The  "  cut-throat  "  must 
be  mastered,  wTas  the  decision.  The  "  earthly  portion,"  with 
its  shelter  and  defense,  must  be  retained,  no  matter  how  se- 
vere was  the  tempest  surging  round  about  it.  Out  into  the 
street,  in  the  midst  of  business  action  and  commercial  con- 
flict, our  heroine  passes.  Presently  the  man  who  had  given 
the  loan  leanis  of  the  girl's  effort  to  raise  the  money.  He 
meets  her  and  asks  her  what  it  means.  She  replies :  "  I 
have  been  notified  that  you  want  the  money."  The  money- 
lender, exhibiting  a  surprise,  says:  "It  is  not  so.  1  do  not 
want  the  money.  You  can  [have  it  as  long  as  you  desire." 
The  hellishness  was  seen  at  a  glance.  The  Shylock,  the 
heartless  grinder  of  defenselessness,  with  the  brazen  front  of  a 
fiend,  had  sought  to  distress  the  girl  in  the  expectation  that 
he  might  wring  from  the  fruit  of  her  struggle  another'twen- 
ty-five  dollars  for  the  securing  of  another  loan,  and  had,  un- 
authorized, sent  her  the  notice.  Away  from  the  light  fof 
heaven,  under  the  gas-light,  this  scheme  was  devised,  and!  the 
devisor  was  extending  his  fangs  of  ruthlessness  to  prey  upon 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  \\\ 

what  had  been  gathered  through  heroic  struggle,  and  by  a 
girl  who  had  been  true  to  every  duty,  who  had  dropped  her 
tears  of  womanhood  where  tears  of  womanhood  were  need- 
ed;  who  had  planted  flowers  where  flowers  were  needed, 
and  who  had  breathed  fragrance  where  fragrance  was  needed. 
Pausing  to  contemplate  the  incident,  as  it  came  to  us  under 
the  gas-light,  we  concluded  that  the  exercise  of  a  scorpion 
lash  upon  such  fiends  would  be  healthful.  They  should  have 
no  right  to  the  chambers  of  mercy,  and  no  permission  to  beds 
of  rest.  A  being  who  would  see  an  orphan  girl  in  this  world 
of  sin  fight  her  battle  and  win  her  right  to  a  crown  of  stars 
for  virtue  and  for  womanhood,  and  then  assume  the  character 
of  a  thief,  to  crowd  her  into  a  condition  of  despair,  by  at- 
tempting to  make  her  his  victim,  deserves  piercing  with  the 
prongs  of  vengeful  wrath.  He  should  be  driven  from  the 
localities  where  flowers  bloom  into  the  localities  where 
naught  but  thorns  and  thistles  grow.  Where  the  song  of 
birds  swell  into  a  heavenly  music,  he  should  not  be  allowed 
to  walk,  but  instead,  be  driven  into  a  path  along  which  only 
harsh,  grating  noises  are  heard.  He  should  not  be  permitted 
to  come  where  the  souls  of  virtue  and  innocence  emit  the  best 
of  life,  lest  he  chill  and  paralyze  them  with  his  presence. 


1 4  Under  the   Gas-Light . 


RAMBLE    XXVI. 


"  I'll  be  at  the  window  :is  he  goes  by. 

As  he  goes  by — 
He'll  lift  his  head  to  look  at  the  sky. 

The  western  sky. 
To  see  if  the  sun  has  set  for  fair — 

And  suddenly  there 
Against  the  sky  in  the  golden  air 

He'll  see  a  pair 
Of  familiar  eyes."        *        *        *        * 

4 

l\  SCENE  Jike  these  lines  foretold  has  long  since  passed. 
||?  It  was  in  the  early  evening,  ere  the  vigils  of  the  night 
^^'  threw  their  watchful  light  upon  the  race  peopling  this 
planet.  He  did  lift  his  head  and  look  at  the  skv — the  beauti- 
ful  sky,  inlaid  with  crimson  and  gpold.  He  saw  the  sun  set 
for  fair,  and  in  the  golden  air  he  saw  the  familiar  eves.  That 
\vus  all.  What  was  within  was  as  a  sealed  scroll,  and  no  spir- 
itual agency  was  there  to  reveal.  The  evening  shadows 
soon  came  on  apace,  bringing  with  them  a  sweet  ministry. 
In  these  shadows  were  heard  the  voices  that  once  were  the 
music  of  morning  hours.  Then  came  the  whisper,  "  They 
have  flown,  not  died,  and  in  fairer  climes,  and  with  nobler 
voices  they  wait  your  coining,  singing  the  song  that  shall 


Under  the   Gas- Light.  115 

have  no  ending."  What  a  comprehension!  Only  they  are 
alive  that  are  dead.  Only  they  are  fairly  ours  that  are  im- 
mortal. And  this  we  learn  within  these  shadows.  The 
leaves  go;  the  grasses  wither;  the  birds  fly  upward  and  are 
out  of  sight;  and  the  years  are  soon  covered  and  gone  in  na- 
ture. But  there  sweeps  into  the  soul  the  hope  which  is  faith, 
that  beyond  the  realm  of  stars,  and  the  golden  crimson  of  the 
horizon  of  life,  is  an  eternal  existence,  full  of  song  and  bloom- 
ing. Did  not  this  feeling  spring  up  there  would  settle  round 
about  man  an  undefined  condition. 


There  passes  a  woman — a  mother,  bearing  a  heavy  bur- 
den, not  upon  her  shoulders,  but  upon  her  heart.  It  is  eleven 
o'clock.  She  wheels,  in  a  little  carriage,  an  infant,  and  by  her 
side  walks  a  six-year-old  boy.  Before  every  screened  door 
she  pauses  and  says  to  the  little  boy,  "  Go  in  here  and  see." 
The  sentence  failed  of  being  completed.  The  boy  under- 
stood the  want,  and  bounded  quietly  away  "to  see."  It  was  not 
difficult  for  the  rambler  to  conclude  what  the  desire  was  to 
see.  There  was  a  mother  out  with  her  children  upon  the 
street  visiting  the  saloons.  It  was  strongly  suggestive  that 
somewhere  in  the  city  was  a  home  wherein  gloom  had 
crowded — where  hope  had  been  wounded,  where  tears  of  joy 
had  been  turned  to  tears  of  weariness,  and  \vhere  the  hand  of 
fate  had  pressed  heavily.  What  was  once  a  strength  and 


n6  Under  the   Gas- Light, 

tower  in  that  home  was  now  a  shattered  column — an  exhibi- 
tion of  weakness.  Yet  there  existed  a  love  for  him — a  long- 
ing to  bring  him  back.  Around  that  tower,  once  so  strong, 
still  twined  the  ivy  of  affection,  as  if  to  repair  and  strengthen 
its  riven  and  broken  condition.  Woman's  faith  and  woman's 
love  is  here  presented  in  its  full  force  and  power.  Where 
man  would  falter,  woman  is  an  armv  with  banners;  where 
man  would  let  go,  woman  would  hold  with  a  mountain-mov- 
ing faith;  where  man  would  curse,  woman  would  pray  with 
an  assurance  of  victory;  where  man  would  desert,  woman 
would  plant  a  rose  and  bathe  it  with  her  tears.  The  mother 
and  wife  said  to  her  child,  "  Go  in  here  and  see;"  but  it  was 
not  that  he  might  be  censured.  The  prompting  was  to  call 
him  back  under  the  dominion  of  a  faith  that  was  abiding,  and 
into  the  atmosphere  of  a  love  that  was  ever  holding  its  fra- 
grance. Man  would  not  have  paused  before  these  screened 
doors  and  said,  "  Go  in  here  and  see ;"  nor  would  he  have  gone 
in  to  see.  His  faith  and  his  love  would  have  broken  ere  he 
reached  such  a  point;  and  yet  howr  often  man  frowns  upon 
and  rejects  the  faith  that  he  beholds  swelling  up  to  his  breast 
and  around  the  throne  of  his  intelligence.  He  should  not  do 
it,  for  by  and  by,  as  the  stars  shine,  and  as  the  angels  sing, 
that  faith  will  be  transferred  to  other  fields,  and  then  its 
graspings  and  clinging*  will  not  affect  the  mortal  life  save  in 
a  spiritual  sense. 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  \  \  -j 

"Isn't  that  an  outrage  upon  decency?"  was  a  question 
asked  with  much  feeling,  and  prompted  by  seeing  a  man  who 
had  reached  the  noon  of  life — a  sovereign  of  a  family,  the 
head  of  a  household  and  the  father  of  children — riding  boldly 
along  a  public  street  with  a  blighted  life,  an  ill-fated  star,  a 
forced  amiability  and  a  false  devotion. 

"  That  man,"  said  an  observer,  "  once  asked  the  people  for 
political  confidence.  He  has  since  forgotten  that  modern  so- 
ciety claims  to  be  a  society  of  decency.  He  has  lost  sight  of 
the  fact  that  dirt  does  not  harmonize  with  the  component 
parts  of  our  civilization.  It  is  plain  that  his  brain  is  gone — 
has  been  paralyzed  to  an  extinction." 

It  i-  a  sad  contemplation.  Should  he  be  stopped  now,  and 
be  shown  a  picture  of  innocent  virtue,  he  would  leer  at  it  and 
call  it  a  fraud.  The  viper-life,  possessed  of  a  power  that 
poisons,  and  infatuates  his  being.  Man  is  a  beast  when  he  lets 
himself  down.  He  profanes  everything  holy  and  curses  every 
virtue  found  about  and  in  the  temple  of  the  soul.  He  would 
feast  on  corruption,  and  ignore  a  garden  of  productive  nour- 
ishment. He  would  jump  into  an  abyss  while  round  about 
were  the  paths  of  safety  inviting  his  footsteps.  The  abyss 
may  be  one  of  sin,  and  the  paths  of  safety  those  of  virtue; 
but  where  sin  is  he  loves  the  best  to  go,  and  like  an  unbridled 
force  he  rushes  forward.  The  fragrance  of  home  virtue  he 
tramples  under  his  feet,  but,  having  lost  his  brain  functions, 
and  being  barren  of  intelligent  conception,  he  knows  it  not. 


1 1 8  Under  the   Gas-Light. 


RAMBLE     XXVII. 


|O  you  see  those  loafers  on  yonder  corner?"  questioned 
one  who  for  some  time  had  been  sitting  within  the  shad- 
ow of  a  Court  Square  tree,  and  continuing,  said :  "  For 
the  last  hour  I  have  been  watching  them."  The  rambler  was 
inclined  to  know  what  opinions  had  been  made  by  the  observ- 
er, and  what  the  reflections  of  his  mind.  "I  believe,"  said 
he,  "  that  no  lady  has  passed  by  since  I  have  been  sitting  here, 
who  has  not  been  followed  by  leering  eyes,  and  been  the  sub- 
ject of  some  unseemly  speech."  That  band  of  loafers  on  yon- 
der hotel  corner  seem  to  have  no  admiration  for  virtue.  In 
the  breast  of  none  does  there  swrell  an  emotion  of  love  for  ele- 
vated character.  Their  range  of  vision  is  upon  the  lowest 
level.  Upon  the  plane  of  lofty  conceptions  they  will 
not  feast.  To  them  nothing  responsive  comes  from  that 
higher  elevation.  In  its  soil  grows  nothing  which  they  would 
care  to  pluck,  because  for  the  fruit  thereof  the}'  have  no  long- 
ing. Like  vandals,  they  trod  it  all  beneath  their  feet.  "Who 
is  this,  and  isn't  she  gay?"  falls  upon  the  ear,  followed  by 
wicked  surmisings.  The  yery  air  in  this  locality  is  tilled  with 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  119 

poison.  There  is  not  from  this  congregation  of  vileness  anv 
looking  into  fair  faces  to  study  the  graces  of  the  heauty  of  a 
divine  creation;  no  looking  into  eyes  to  conceive  them  as 
windows  to  souls  whose  mission  it  is  to  carry  light  where 
light  is  the  need.  Their  gaze  causes  virtue  to  quiver  and  in- 
nocence to  hasten  its  steps.  Were  a  sweet  ministry  to  pause 
here  to  sing  a  sweet  song  of  love,  of  home  and  heaven,  it 
would  receive  no  approbation.  It  would  be  compelled  to  go 
away,  and  may  be  to  weep  over  wounds  received  in  the 
heart;  and  going,  who  would  follow  to  sav — 

"  May  Ihc  snowy  wings  of  innocence  and  love  protect  tlu-e!  " 

Not  one  from  this  corner  of  depraved  life.  Vipers  are  in- 
capable of  invoking  love  to  enter  upon  a  mission  of  protec- 
tion. Love  to  them  does  not  appear  as  an  agency  of  con- 
trolling power.  Animal  perfection  is  the  scope  of  their  men- 
tal dominion.  They  comprehend  no  harmonies  of  life.  They 
would  delight  most  in  wreck  and  ruin.  Blasted  hopes  woidd 
bring  to  them  contentment.  Bleeding  heart  strings  would 
afford  them  satisfaction.  Shattered  home  temples  would  be 
their  glory.  Severed  unions  would  bring  food  for  their  am- 
bition. Now  and  then  one  pours  his  intellectual  animalism 
over  a  Police  Gazette  or  a  dime  novel.  These  contain  the 
acme  of  their  ambition.  Beyond  such  presentments  their 
brain  force  has  never  been  trained  to  reach.  In  physical  base- 
ness their  contents  are  digested.  Did  thev  contain  a  thought 
here  and  there,  grand  in  its  heauty,  suggesting  an  eternity  ot 


I2O  Under  the   Gas- Light. 

depth  and  an  immortality  of  existence,  they  would  he 
dropped,  to  he  pronounced  vague  matter.  Anything  treat- 
ing upon  powers  of  intellectual  development  and  philosophic 
force  would,  by  them,  be  discarded.  Ask  them  questions  con- 
cerning elucidations  in  scientific  fields,  and  they  would  stare 
at  you  like  idiots.  Mention  a  fact  as  expounded  by  Draper 
and  Tame  and  Huxley,  and  with  the  imbecility  of  a  louse 
they  will  ask:  "What  kind  of  taffy  are  you  giving  us?" 
Vulgarity  is  their  creed  and  animal  baseness  their  ethics.  In 
the  presence  of  a  masterpiece  of  art  they  would  exhibit 
coarseness.  The  voice  of  music  in  the  air  would  prompt  in 
them  no  lofty  sentiment.  They  would  turn  their  eyes  from 
the  matchless  grace  of  a  rainbow  to  look  at  a  dog-fight,  and 
would  flee  from  a  temple  of  virtue  to  revel  among  blunted 
sensibilities  and  deadened  souls.  The  sister  of  a  man  of  char- 
acter, refinement  and  heart-wealth  goes  by  and  through  that 
atmosphere.  An  insinuation  falls,  base  and  ugly.  "Do  you 
know  of  whom  you  speak?"  is  a  question  quickly  interposed. 
Then  follows  a  trembling.  Depravity  is  a  coward,  and  the 
reply  is  confused.  "  That  woman  is  the  light  of  a  home,  the 
object  of  a  large  affection,  and  the  pride  of  a  devoted  circle," 
spoke  the  first  speaker.  The  coward  hung  his  head  and 
walked  away.  An  eulogy  upon  virtuous  character  was  a  pun- 
ishment for  him  to  hear.  The  brother  of  this  woman,  pass- 
ing, heard  a  few  words  and  came  to  a  pause.  He  heard  them 
repeated,  which  roused  him  up  to  an  angry  passion.  While 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  1 2  i 

the  gentle  evening  brec/es  were  playing  through  the  leaves 
of  the  overhanging  trees,  and  while  the  stars  gleamed  purity 
from  the  heavens,  there  came  a  torrent  of  invective.  A  pain- 
ful silence  intervened,  when  he  said,  "  Cursed  be  the  city  upon 
the  streets  of  which  a  woman  of  virtue,  of  grace  and  affec- 
tion, cannot  walk  in  a  twilight  hour  without  being  an  object 
of  hurtful  criticism,  and  the  subject  of  a  defiled  speech." 
Must  it  be  that  when  the  evening  shadows  fall,  when  the 
heavens  beam  with  light  and  glory,  and  when  the  air  is  full' 
of  spiritual  life,  the  queens  of  our  earthly  temples  must  cloister 
themselves — must  veil  their  faces  to  avoid  a  vulgar  street  in- 
spection? Are  there  no  scorpion  lashes  that  could  be  used 
upon  the  backs  of  these  vulgar  animals?  no  brands  of  infaim 
to  press  upon  their  debased  frontlets,  that  they  may  be  avoid- 
ed where  virtue  is  worshipped  and  where  innocence  is  cher- 
ished as  a  cardinal  grace? 

Poison  in  the  air  does  not  tarry.  It  meets  with  no  barrier. 
Temple  walls  fail  to  hold  it  in  check.  Beyond  them  it  reach- 
es to  perform  its  withering  work.  Plaintive  cries  of  inno- 
cence are  passed  unheeded.  It  hushes  the  voice  of  song  and 
pales  the  flush  of  health  and  beauty.  A  surmising  of  laxity 
and  weakness,  expressed,  is  baneful  poison,  and  as  quick  to  go 
as  a  flash  of  flame,  and  it  goes  to  ruin  cherished  hopes  and 
open  up  a  flood  of  tears  where  before  was  all  cheer  and  joy 
and  sunshine. 


122  Under  the   Gas-Light. 


RAMBLE    XXVIII. 

"All!  brandy!  brandy!  bane  of  life, 
Spring  of  tumult,  source  of  strife, 
Could  I  but  half  thy  curses  tell, 
The  wise  would  wish  thee  safe  in  hell." 

||O  wrote  a  poet  years  ago,  prompted  by  observation  and 
experience  under  the  gas-light  of  the  period.  The  rani- 
bier  of  to-day,  passing  within  the  shades  of  night,  is 
prompted  by  his  observation  to  give  utterance  to  a  similar  ex- 
pression. Down  a  by-way  is  heard  a  tumult — a  strife.  The 
cause  thereof  is  easily  defined.  The  vile  bane  of  life  has 
been  at  work,  and  as  a  result  humanity  has  been  transformed 
into  a  condition  of  beastliness.  In  the  confusion  is  heard  an 
incoherent  speech,  suggesting  forcibly  that  a  brain  had  been 
diverted  from  its  legitimate  function.  Cruelty  follows  the 
strife.  It  had  been  forecast  as  its  sure  sequence  and  it  came. 
Then  there  was  crying.  Innocence  had  been  trodden  upon 
and  wounded.  The  vases  that  in  a  happier  hour  contained 
the  flowers  of  a  sweet  existence  lay  shattered  upon  the  floor. 
The  vine  that  had  twined  about  the  window  lav  prostrate, 
having  been  bereft  of  life  and  nourishment.  From  this  scene 
the  rambler  passes.  The  thoroughfare  is  crowded.  The 


Under  the   Gas -Light.  123 

men  of  fortune  and  power  are  passing.  The  gleam  of  a  gas- 
light reveals  the  face  of  one  whose  name  is  on  a  church  hook 
— one  who  professes  to  adhere  to  the  Christ  doctrine,-  the 
Christ  grace  and  the  Christ  charity;  but,  tracing  him  to  his 
place  of  business,  the  rambler  finds  that  he  is  a  wholesale 
dealer,  and  that  within  his  house  is  in  store  the — 

"  Sprinjj  of  tumult,  source  of  strife." 

Is  his  the  Christianity  that  is  redeeming?  Is  it  the  kind 
that  flows  from  the  heart  of  the  heavens?  Is  it  the  kind  that 
takes  a  bee-line  from  earthly  vales  to  the  eternal  throne?  The 
rambler  will  not  pause  for  an  answer.  Hark !  He  prays : 
"  Bless  suffering  humanity.  Alleviate  the  distesses  of  the 
widows  and  orphans."  Good  prayer — very  good  prayer,  but 
how  about  that 

"  Spring  of  tumult,  source  of  strife.'  " 

Pressing  for  information,  the  rambler's  faith  in  what  he 
had  looked  upon  as  the  personification  of  Christian  grace  and 
force  is  weakened.  In  his  rambles  he  has  seen  what  the 
spring  of  tumult  was,  and  what  the  source  of  strife.  It  was 
a  spring  around  which  there  could  be  no  growing  but  that  of 
thorns,  a  source  from  which  could  be  developed  naught  but 
vileness,  bitterness  and  tears.  How  a  reputed  child  of  God 
can  nurture  such  "  spring  "  and  "  source  "  is  not  clear,  and  the 
inability  to  make  it  clear  is  causing  much  unrest  and  much 
distrust  where  should  exist  tranquility  and  faith. 

"There  goes  mv  teacher!"  utters  a  bounding  youth.   "  Let's 


124  Under  the   Gas- Light. 

see  where  he  goes."  These  words  prompted  a  flood  of  sug- 
gestions. There  was  a  seeking  of  precedent  from  which  to 
argue,  and  an  example  to  follow.  The  seeking  was  done  In 
those  of  a  young  and  active  life,  with  habits  yet  unformed. 
The  teacher  passed  hurriedly  along  under  the  gleam  of  the 
gas-light.  Now  he  drops  into  a  hook-store  to  scan  the  latest 
issues  of  current  thought  and  make  a  selection.  This  being 
done,  he  pursues  his  journey,  with  the  young  hunters  for  prec- 
edent and  example  following  closely  behind  him.  Now  he 
ascends  a  stairway  and  enters  a  brilliantly  lighted  room.  It 
was  not  a  club  room,  nor  a  gambling  hell,  for  in  the  com- 
pany, seated  in  earnest,  thoughtful  silence,  were  ladies. 
Ranged  about  upon  the  walls  were  the  treasured  voices  of  the 
past — historic  voices — voices  of  philosophy-,  of  speculation, 
and  of  religious  truth.  Looking  at  one  localitv  was  to  fancy 
the  hearing  of  the  voices  of  song;  at  another,  the  hearing  of 
noise  coming  from  conditions  disturbed  by  innovation ;  and  at 
another,  the  hearing  of  the  thrill  of  genius  along  the  line  of  the 
world's  developing  civilization;  and  at  another,  the  hearing 
of  a  voice  proclaiming  the  fitness  of  the  human  soul  to  be 
the  unit  and  measure  of  all  institutions — the  epitome  and  micro- 
cosm of  the  universe ;  and  at  another,  "  Hear  ye  the  gospel " 
— a  voice  teaching  that  God  moves  in  the  highway,  not  upon 
a  palace  carpet;  goes  with  the  multitude,  not  with  self-elect- 
ed experts;  runs  amid-channel,  not  in  the  eddy — teaching 
that  the  world  forces,  the  world  faiths,  and  the  great  relig- 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  \  25 

ions  are  not  private,  select — up  this  man's  lane  and  down  that 
man's  spinal  cord.  But  the  rambler  is  truly  rambling.  He 
must  not  lose  sight  of  the  teacher  and  those  who  are  look- 
ing for  precedent  and  example.  The  conclusion  is  that  they 
have  found  enough.  Will  they  profit  by  it?  Possibly  they 
are  disappointed.  Had  the  teacher  entered  doubtful  localities; 
had  he  entered  this  and  that  way,  which  lead  to.  where  souls 
are  being  wrecked,  the  example  might  have  been  more  satis- 
factory to  our  young  friends,  and,  as  experience  teaches,  would 
have  been  followed  more  readily.  But  the  example  was 
good.  Where  he  went  were  places  of  safety.  The  young 
man  can  go  there  always  and  never  suffer.  Under  the  gas- 
lights that  gleam  in  those  localities  are  found  no  pitfalls,  no 
lurking,  devouring  evil,  and  no  poison  to  wither  the  vital  en- 
ergies. Among  the  flood  of  suggestions  referred  to  was  one 
pointing  to  the  teacher.  The  thought  was:  "What  a  re- 
sponsibility is  his!"  A  walk  here  and  a  walk  there;  passing 
under  this  gas-light  or  under  that  one;  entering  this  door  or 
that  door,  may  cause  a  thorny  path  to  be  made  for  a  score: 
may  cast  down  brilliant  brains,  and  hedge  the  ways  of  the 
forces  of  genius  that  otherwise  might  expand  into  agencies  of 
mastering  power. 

Bvron  expressed  the  correct  idea  in  these  lines: 

"  Tis  thus  the  spirit  of  ;i  sing-le  mind 

Makes  that  of  multitudes  take  one  direction. 
As  roll  the  waters  to  the  breathing  wind, 
Or  roam  the  herd  beneath  the  Chief's  protection.1' 


126  Under  the   Gas-Light. 

The  teacher  is  taken  as  an  ideal  character.  His  deeds  arc 
mirrors  unto  the  young.  This  was  Goldsmith's  conception 
when  he  wrote  of  the  village  schoolmaster: 

"  Full  well  they  laugh'd  with  counterfeited  g-li-i: 
At  all  his  jokes,  for  many  :i  joke  had  he." 

Had  the  teacher  in  question  so  elected  he  could  have  set  an 
example  pointing  to  scenes  and  conditions  of  moral  disaster, 
lie  might  have  led  from  light  to  darkness,  and  from  flowers 
to  thorns.  But  through  the  ministry  of  some  treasured  ex- 
perience, and  from  the  planting  of  seed  that  attained  to 
growth  and  development,  the  example  was  redeeming,  and 
the  leading  was  from  light  to  light,  from  flowers  to  flowers 
and  from  good  to  good. 


Under  the   Gas- Light.  127 


RAMBLE    XXIX. 


NE  thing  can  be  truthfully  said,  uncl  that  is  this,  that  our 
American  life  is  an  active  life.  This  industry  every- 
where visible — from  the  cries  in  front  of  a  side-show  to 
the  management  of  a  great  agricultural  and  mechanical  ex- 
hibition— indicates  that  there  is  a  struggle  to  better  conditions. 
The  rambler,  though  weary  from  the  duties  that  had  been 
his  to  perform  in  preceding  hours,  nerves  himself  to  the  con- 
clusions that  industry  is  the  only  safe  agrarian  law  of  society; 
that  it  is  ever  elevating  the  laboring  classes  and  reducing  the 
idle;  that  it  is  a  universal  duty,  in  that  it  fosters  health,  con- 
tentment, virtue  and  happiness,  as  well  as  competence  and  af- 
fluence. The  mind  desiring  a  condition  free  from  the  neces- 
sity of  labor  is  deceived. 

"A  want  of  occupation  is  not  rest; 
A  mind  quite  vacant  is  a  mind  distressed." 

The  man  who  does  not  labor,  and  who  does  not  walk  in 
the  royal  paths  of  industry,  is  an  incubus  and  a  burden.  It  is 
surprising  to  see  so  much  false  aristocracy  extant.  This  mo- 
ment there  brushes  by  a  man  expressing  a  dissatisfaction  over 


128  Under  the   Gas-Light. 

the  fact  that  so  many  toilers  are  in  his  way.  His  hrain  is  too 
limited  to  comprehend  the  simplest  economic  principle.  He- 
forgets  that  without  a  base  there  could  he  no  tower.  These 
men  are  the  foundation  rocks  of  the  state,  of  society,  and  of 
the  world's  civilization.  Paralyze  the  functions  of  these  l>asc 
rocks,  and  soon  tower  and  crown  would  lay  in  the  dust. 

A  prelate,  an  assumed  priestly  dignitary  of  the  church  of 
England,  was  surprised  to  see  Dr.  Johnson,  one  of  the  grant! 
royal  princes  of  English  literature,  speak  to  Rohert  Burns,  a 
man  dressed  in  coarse  attire,  and  to  the  doctor  expressed  his 
surprise.  Dr.  Johnson  replied:  "I  spoke  not  to  the  boots, 
but  to  the  man  who  stands  in  them."  That  prelate's  name 
has  long  since  been  forgotten,  but  the  name  of  Robert  Burns 
will  be  remembered  as  long  as  there  is  any  civilization  in  the 
world.  Dr.  Johnson  did  justice  to  the  great  soul  of  Burns 
ere  Burns  became  immortal,  and  thereby  convinced  the  brain- 
less forces  of  his  time  and  the  soft  shells  of  the  English  church 
that  he  (Dr.  Johnson)  had  the  courage  to  revere  divinity  in 
humanity,  and  the  ability  to  comprehend  a  great  brain,  a 
great  soul  and  a  great  heart. 

•'A  man's  ;i  man  for  a'  that" 

was  a  gospel  never  excelled  by  any  titled  prelate  of  the  En- 
glish church.  It  touched  the  great  heart  of  humanity,  and 
clinging  to  it  through  a  natural  adhesiveness,  has  been  re- 
membered by  succeeding  generations,  while  down  went  titled 
conditions  and  princely  powers. 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  129 

In  another  place  and  under  other  circumstances,  the  ram- 
bler hears  a  man  say :  "  I  conceive  it  to  be  my  duty  to  pay 
the  most  attention  to  that  part  of  humanity  which  has  in  it 
the  most  soul."  The  speaker  wa*  a  man  who  occupies  a  high 
position.  He  had  come  in  contact  with  all  conditions  of  life. 
He  had  been  in  the  cottage  and  in  the  palace,  in  the  valley 
and  upon  the  mountain-top.  Around  him  had  fluttered  but- 
terflies and  eagles.  In  his  presence  had  stood  plumed 
knights  with  brains  and  plumed  knights  without  brains,  but 
over  them  all  he  was  disposed  to  look,  and  to  pay  attention  to 
that  part  of  the  race  which  developed  the  most  heart,  and  as 
a  consequence  he  looked  most  into  the  faces  of  the  best  forces 
of  civilization,  and  paid  most  attention  to  those  who  were  the 
bed-rocks  of  home,  of  church  and  of  state.  From  under  the 
gas-light  there  emerged  a  princess.  She  entered  a  cottage 
with  a  royal  tread.  She  was  angry,  for  in  her  family  the  line 
of  royal  caste  had  been,  in  one  instance,  disregarded.  There 
was  an  interchange,  fierce  and  fiery,  and  when  the  climax  was 
reached  it  was  rounded  off  in  this  wise:  "  Remember  that  I 
am  a  lady!" 

"And  I  a  mother!"  was  the  retort. 

It  was  the  retort  of  a  heart  that  had  been  wounded,  the 
outflow  of  a  soul  cherishing  the  broad  divinity  found  in  the 
nobility  of  man  and  womanhood.  Before  it  the  cham- 
pions of  a  cold  philosophy  could  not  stand.  "And  I  a 
mother"  was  a  voice  that  lingered  in  the  air.  It  tarried  amid 


130  Under  the   Gas-Light. 

the  vines  and  flowers,  and  then  rolled  up  against  spangled 
walls  and  exalted  towers.  "And  I  a  mother "  was  a  music 
that  commanded  incense  and  obtained  it.  It  had  meaning, 
and  hence  the  force  to  carry  inspiration  where  inspiration 
was  needed — to  the  cottage  or  to  "  Estwick  Hall;"  to  the  val- 
ley or  to  the  mountain  -crest;  to  the  chambers  of  poverty  or 
to  the  chambers  of  plenty.  It  was  the  breath  of  a  soul  tem- 
pest, and  knew  no  fear.  It  was  the  announcement  of  a  con- 
dition and  a  position  titled  by  the  edict  of  the  eternal  majesty, 
and  therefore  above  all  conditions  and  positions.  The  dream 
of  the  poet  was : 

"  Sweet  is  the  image  ot"  the  brooding  dove;— 
Holy  as  heaven  a  mother's  tender  love : 
The  love  of  many  prayers,  and  many  tears, 
Which  change  not  with  dim  declining  ye'irs, — 
The  only  love,  which,  on  this  teeming  earth, 
Asks  no  return  for  passion's  wayward  birth." 

Truly  the  rambler  rambles.  It  is  now  past  the  midnight 
hour.  "Watchman,  what  of  the  night?"  goes  over  the  tele- 
phone. "All  is  well,"  comes  back;  voice  to  voice,  each  far 
away.  Triumph  of  genius,  of  brain,  and  of  industry.  Look- 
ing at  the  stars  that  gleam  in  the  heavens,  over  nation,  and 
city,  and  gas-light,  the  rambler  calls  along  the  path  of  future- 
development  :  "  What  will  be  added  to  the  civilization  of  the 
next  decade?"  No  responsive  echo  comes  back  over  the 
track  of  the  years.  All  is  silent — all  is  sealed;  but  we  know 
that  what  will  be  given  will  be  given  by  the  royal  sons  of  toil 
— God's  nobility. 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  131 


RAMBLE    XXX. 


jERE  and  there  a  gas-light  gleamed  on  South  Second 
street,  and  under  them  the  rambler  passed  unconscious  of 
BIJ  how  life  was  being  lived  there.  The  State  House  pre- 
sented a  dark  picture,  with  here  and  there  a  light  streaming 
through  the  windows,  revealing  the  fact  that  while  others 
slept  somebody  was  toiling.  From  leaf  to  leaf  and  from 
branch  to  branch,  as  the  corners  are  passed,  comes  a  'silent 
voice.  Here  a  melody,  and  there  a  plaintive  fluttering. 
Shadows  are  passing,  which  are  now  and  then  traced  with 
beams  of  light.  Here  a  song  is  sung,  and  there  a  petition  of- 
fered. Under  a  benediction  one  home  rears  around  man  a 
defense,  and  under  a  cime  another  scatters  thorns.  South 
Second  street  is  very  beautiful  under  the  power  of  refine- 
ment. Its  sides  are  fringed  with  attractive  habitations, 
in  which  are  budding  and  blooming  flowers  of  intelligent 
conception.  All  about  can  be  seen  ornamentation,  evidences 
of  Christian  culture  and  the  better  civilization.  The  paths 
that  wind  beneath  overhanging  branches  are  covered  with 
withered  leaves,  reminding  the  rambler  of  the  changes  in  na- 
ture as  the  years  go  b\ . 


I 

132  Under  the   Gas-Light. 

Out  through  a  brilliantly  lighted  hall  comes  a  strain  of 
music.  The  notes  are  sweet.  They  create  a  spell  before 
which  language  is  powerless.  It  is  a  music  sweetly  sooth- 
ing. It  betrays  no  faith-  -no  trust.  There  is  harmony  with 
the  dying  night  breezes  harping  through  the  seared  leaves, 
trembling  upon  limb  and  bush.  The  soul,  commingling  with 
the  melody,  reaches  forth  to  muse  with  the  sentient  ministries 
in  the  air.  The  man  who  would  pause  here  would  soon  be 
made  unfit  for  "  treason,  stratagem  and  spoils,"  else  he  would 
be  speedily  rated  "  an  ignorant,  noteless,  timeless,  tuneless  fel- 
low." The  rambler  paused  and  admired.  He  saw  the  dark- 
ness melt  as  before  a  ray,  and  the  half  veiled  face  of  heaven 
throw  a  stream  of  light,  with  a  beam  of  comfort  to  direct  his 
way.  It  was  evident  that  beyond  that  threshold  had  never 
passed  a  viper  to  sting  and  poison.  Virtue  stood  full  crowned, 
and  round  about,  in  battle  array,  ranged  the  angels  of  defense. 
Their  presence  has  been  courted,  their  service  cherished, 
therefore  the  breath  of  divinity  breathed  in  the  music,  and  in 
the  rustling  leaves,  which  the  rambler  caught  that  autumn 
evening. 

Life  has  its  contrasts — its  lights  and  shadows.  The  ram- 
bler passes  from  the  one  into  the  other. 

"Do  you  see  yonder  cottage,  out  from  which  comes  but  a 
faint  light?"  asked  a  resident  of  the  street. 

The  rambler  paused,  saying:  "I  do  now  since  you  hu\r 
directed  my  attention  thither." 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  133 

From  our  friend  we  gathered  substantially  these  facts: 
Beneath  that  roof  exists  a  viper — a  female  viper.     She  is  a 
mother.     Her  life  to-day  is  black  with  sin.     A  few  years  ago, 
when  she  was  purer,  God  gave  to  her  two  baby  girls — 

"  Two  fair  little  creatures,  with  shining  eyes, 

That  seemed  to  have  taken  their  radiant  litfht 
From  the  fairest  hue  of  the  summer  skies.'' 

Ei'c  they  grew  into  young  maidenhood  their  mother 
strayed  into  a  thorny  path — she,  who  for  their  sake,  should 
have  clung  to  the  sheet  anchor  of  virtue  and  besought  defense 
"from  the  beautiful  city  with  gates  of  pearl,"  and  have- 
prayed  the  angels,  •with  "  sounding  harps  and  gleaming 
crowns,"  to  woo  her  girls  into  the  paths  of  purity.  By  and 
by  there  came  two  human  fiends  seeking  prey — two  high- 
stepping  young  men  of  the  town.  They  bid  for  these  two 
voting  girls,  and  the  mother,  in  her  abandonment,  sold  them 
— permitted  them  to  be  sacrificed  upon  the  altar  of  a  terrible 
fatality.  She  bid  them  follow  the  path  which  she  had  chosen 
to  follow,  ami  to  feel  the  thorns  which  she,  in  her  vileness, 
was  being  made  to  feel.  The  rambler  looked  awav  to 
behold  the  stars  that  gleamed  through  the  drifting  clouds, 
and  to  wonder  why  there  was  so  much  mercy  in  the  heavens. 
Here  were  two  girls  not  long  from  babyhood  being  deliber- 
ately educated  to  a  deadly  vice,  having  been  heartlessly  sold 
by  a  heartless  mother  to  the  merchants  of  hell.  It  is  passing 
strange  that  mercy  should  continue  to  be  mercy  when  such  a 


134  Under  the   Gas-Light. 

crime  is  being  enacted.  The  being  that  would  be  instrumen- 
tal in  blasting  an  innocent  life,  in  turning  purity  to  impurity, 
in  chilling  a  flower  just  blooming,  and  in  directing  a  guileless 
heart  into  guile,  should  have  no  peace  and  joy  in  the  midst  of 
a  Christian  and  civilized  life.  Through  the  air  should  come 
vengeful  arrows  of  wrath  to  such  an  one.  But  these  mur- 
derers of  maiden  life,  these  poisoners  of  purity,  these  blasters 
of  childhood's  fragrance,  are  permitted  to  hold  up  their  heads 
within  the  light  of  the  city's  best  homes,  and  in  the  presence 
of  virtue  that  has  received  a  cherishing  fervent  and  strong. 
The  defenseless  may  only  know  that  in  the  afterdawn  it  will 
not  be  all  mercy,  but  with  it  will  be  seen  the  flashings  of  jus- 
tice for  the  beings  who  outraged  buds  and  blossoms,  and  inno- 
cent hearts,  when  there  was  no  defense — no  one  to  smite 
down  the  beasts  as  they  preyed  like  vampires  upon  the  all  of 
life — its  virtue,  its  glorv  and  its  crown. 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  135 


RAMBLE    XXXI. 


jlN  a  quiet  and  humble  retreat,  removed  from  the  gas-light's 
glitter  and  glare,  lives  a  widowed  mother,  and  with  her 
two  little  boys  yet  in  the  spring  of  life.  How  and  why 
they  had  been  left  alone  to  struggle  for  existence  was  not  re- 
vealed, and  lest  a  sanctuary  of  sacred  silence  should  be  invad- 
ed, no  intelligence  was  sought  in  that  direction.  Little  Joe, 
the  eldest,  during  the  past  few  months,  had  sold  flowers  and 
button-hole  bouquets.  When  the  seared  leaves  began  to  fall 
and  north  winds  to  blow  flowers  were  less  in  demand.  An 
office-holder,  and  occupant  of  one  of  the  state-rooms  of  the 
Capitol,  had  not  been  too  much  engaged  to  observe  his  com- 
ing and  going,  and,  being  attracted  by  the  boy's  manner,  had 
on  many  a  summer  day  purchased  from  him  a  cluster  of 
flowers.  One  day  when  he  came,  his  friend,  realizing  that 
"  leaves  have  their  time  to  fall,  and  flowers  to  fade,"  suggest- 
ed the  selling  of  matches.  Little  Joe,  having  confidence, 
concluded  to  follow  his  suggestion.  His  good  friend  ad- 
vanced him  the  money  with  which  to  purchase  a  stock. 
When  the  matches  were  obtained  he  was  given  this  advice : 


136  Under  the   Gas-Light. 

"  You  go  south  on  Second  street,  and  then  back  on  Fourth 
street.  Little  Joe  looked  up  in  astonishment,  and  to  exclaim : 
"  What!  go  among  those  big  houses?  I  can't  sell  anything 
there.  The  people  who  live  in  those  houses  look  so  cross 
and  mad  at  me.  I  would  sooner  go  among  the  little  houses. 
The  people  who  live  in  them  appear  more  friendly.  I  al- 
ways sell  more  to  them." 

His  exclamation  and  reply  opened  up  a  train  of  reflection. 
It  was  an  experience  revealing  a  contrast  between  two  con- 
ditions of  life.  Little  Joe  was  confronted  in  the  one  locality 
with  comfortless  shadows,  and  in  the  other  with  the  gleams 
of  sunshine.  His  recollection  of  the  one  condition  will  be 
the  recollection  of  hours  which  had  in  them  more  of  coldness 
than  of  warmth,  and  of  the  other  condition  the  recollection  of 
hours  which  had  in  them  more  of  warmth  than  of  coldness. 

Upon  the  night  when  the  rambler  was  abroad  the  mother 
was  passing  under  the  rod  of  affliction,  and  it  was  plain  to  be 
seen  that  but  a  little  while  would  she  be  permitted  to  remain 
upon  the  earth.  Little  Joe  had  just  come  in  from  his  wan- 
derings. He  had  sold  his  last  paper  of  matches.  The  meet- 
ing of  mother  and  son  revealed  a  warm  affection — a  fervent 
love.  Some  how  or  other  the  little  fellow  realized  that  in  a- 
short  time  the  best  and  truest  friend  he  ever  knew  would 
leave  him  for  a  journey  through  the  valley,  and  that  then  he 
would  be  alone  in  the  world — alone  to  struggle — alone  to 
achieve.  "Mother,"  said  he,  "I  will  do  all  I  can  for  you."" 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  137 

The  expression  came  up  from  a  great  soul,  though  possessed 
by  a  little  boy.  Little  by  little  he  had  saved  his  money.  He 
thought  of  no  one  but  his  mother;  he  knew  no  one  but  her, 
and  cared  for  no  one  but  her.  Her  pain  was  his  pain,  her 
sorrow  his  sorrow,  and  her  joy  his  joy.  At  last  the  angel  of 
death  came  and  took  from  the  boy  his  mother.  He  looked 
into  her  gentle  face,  traced  by  the  weight  of  care,  and  with 
his  little  hand  moistened  with  his  tears  he  closed  her  eyes — 
eyes  that  had  followed  his  footsteps  many  a  weary  day,  and 
had  watched  his  coming  when  the  evening  shadows  were 
creeping  over  cottage  and  palace. 

The  scene  here  depicted  was  presented  a  week  or  more 
ago.  To-night — night  upon  which  the  rambler  rambles — 
little  Joe  is  found  alone  in  the  world — alone,  an  orphan  child. 

Engaging  him  in  conversation,  he  says,  presenting  a  pic- 
ture of  manly  pride:  "I  have  buried  my  mother;"  and  then 
his  eyes  sparkled  with  soul  dew.  "  How  could  you  do  such 
a  thing  when  so  young—  so  small."  Answering,  he  revealed 
the  fact  that  he  had  gone  to  the  man  who  makes  coffins,  and 
told  him  that  his  mother  had  died,  and  that  he  wanted  one  in 
which  to  bury  her.  The  undertaker,  judging  from  his  ap- 
pearance that  he  could  not  pay  for  a  finished  coffin,  gave  di- 
rections in  regard  to  a  box.  The  boy  looked  up,  and  asked : 
"  Can  I  not  have  a  nice  coffin  in  which  to  put  my  mother? 
I  will  pay  for  it.  I  have  some  money  now,  and  will  sell 
more  matches  and  pay  for  it."  Satisfied  that  the  boy  was 


138  Under  the   Gas-Light. 

honest  and  would  do  what  he  said  he  would,  the  undertaker 
directed  that  a  nice  coffin  be  furnished.  "Then  you  will 
want  a  wagon?"  asked  the  undertaker.  Looking  into  the 
man's  face,  with  his  eyes  full,  as  was  his  heart,  he  asked : 
"  Cannot  my  mother  be  taken  to  the  grave  in  the  hearse  ? 
She  is  as  good  as  any  other  boy's  mother.  I  will  pay  for  it 
all.  I  promised  my  mother  when  she  died  that  I  would  do 
it,  and  I  will  do  it."  It  was  not  hard  to  detect  in  the  boy  a 
purpose  that  was  earnest,  and  it  was  easy  to  conclude  that  in 
this  matter,  and  in  fact  in  all  other  matters,  he  would  be  true. 

All  he  desired  was  furnished,  and  he  went  to  his  lonely 
home  feeling  glad  that  he  was  able  to  fulfill  the  promise  he 
had  made  his  mother  ere  her  spirit  left  its  mortal  home  for  a 
home  in  the  skies.  The  boy  knew  that  his  mother  was  a 
good  mother,  and  in  his  soul  he  felt  the  impress  of  her  char- 
acter; and  happy  was  he  to  know  that  from  care  and  toil  he 
could  see  her  conveyed  to  a  quiet  rest  in  a  way  that  would  re- 
flect honor  upon  his  name.  While  yet  a  boy  his  manhood 
developed.  In  the  spring-time  of  his  life  the  autumn  wealth 
showed  itself.  He  determined  that  the  beauty  and  taste  inci- 
dent to  Christian  civilization  should  surround  her  in  the  pas- 
sage to  the  tomb.  Over  her  grave  will  bloom  flowers,  and  it 
is  sure  that  through  the  years  they  will  be  well  watered  by 
little  Joe. 

When  the  grave  was  closed  and  the  little  boys  found  their 
way  to  the  city,  a  couple  of  ladies  met  them  at  their  dreary 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  139 

and  desolate  habitation.  Looking  at  the  younger  of  the  two, 
it  was  suggested  that  he  be  sent  to  the  Home  of  the  Friend- 
less. Little  Joe  turned  his  head,  and  soon  his  eyes  were  filled 
with  tears.  Said  he  to  the  ladies:  "I  don't  want  my  little 
brother  sent  to  the  Home,  for  if  he  goes  there  somebody  will 
take  him  away,  and  I  will  never  see  him  again."  Looking 
up  into  the  face  of  one  of  the  ladies,  he  continued :  "  Won't 
you  take  him?  If  you  do  I  will  pay  for  his  board  and  cloth- 
ing." The  plea  was  the  eloquence  of  child-faith,  and  could 
not  be  resisted. 

Standing  in  this  little  man's  presence,  the  rambler  was 
wont  to  say :  Here  we  see  a  great  force — a  combination  of 
heroic  elements,  in  the  midst  of  which  is  a  soul-fountain 
containing  everything  that  is  sweet  and  beautiful.  Little 
Joe  loved  his  mother — loved  her  living  and  loved  her  dead, 
and  in  the  boy  swelled  and  sprung  forth  a  manhood  that 
would  not  say  less  than  this  when  her  spirit  went  home  to 
God:  "Here  lies  the  best  woman,  in  my  judgment,  I  ever 
knew — she  was  my  mother,  and  she  shall  be  buried  and  laid 
away  to  rest."  From  a  chamber  of  poverty  the  boy  walked 
forth,  and  in  the  manhood  which  he  developed  showed  that 
he  bore  as  proud  a  name  as  was  borne  anywhere  among  the 
race.  In  the  street  he  had  been  crowded  to  one  side  because 
of  the  clothes  he  wore  and  the  work  he  did,  and  by  those 
who  would  have  been  slow  to  believe  that  in  the  domain  of 
the  affections,  and  round  the  sanctuary  of  the  best  conditions 


140  Under  the   Gas- Light. 

of  life,  he  was  gathering  a  royal  strength.  It  is  the  strength 
that  makes  manhood  grand  and  powerful  in  the  mastery  of 
contending  forces.  Little  Joe  gave  all  he  had  that  his  mother 
might  be  honored,  and  the  act  and  the  knowledge  thereof 
will  serve  him  well  all  along  his  journey  of  life. 

In  this  little  boy  the  rambler  beholds  all  the  elements  for  a 
crowning  success.  A  diamond  that  gleams  to-day  gleams 
to-morrow  and  will  glow  with  beauty  always.  The  soul 
that  expands  largely  in  the  morning  of  life  will  show  its  full- 
ness when  the  twilight,  creeping  about,  tells  that  the  evening 
has  come.  A  memory  that  is  cherished  in  the  summer  years 
will  never  grow  old,  and  will  form  a  vivid  picture  when  the 
frosts  of  autumn  and  the  winter  winds  come.  How  refresh- 
ing these  soul-lights,  which  are  led  now  and  then  to  scatter 
their  effulgence.  We  see  one  to-day,  and  know  not  what  is 
beneath;  to-morrow  it  may  be  touched  to  a  development,  and 
to  an  agency  that  will  rear  an  altar  for  the  sublimest  devo- 
tion. If  this  light  flashes  from  a  youthful  life  it  will  reveal 
the  cast  of  manhood,  and  down  the  years  will  point  to  victory 
and  glory.  . 


Under  the   Gas-Light.  141 


TRUST. 


Lines  suggested  to  the  mind  and  heart  of  the  Rambler  by 
a  ramble  made  at  an  earlier  period  of  his  life: 

"  Trust  me,"  so  said  a  little  girl, 
While  toving  with  a  g-olden  curl. 

"/  will,  my  bird,"  for  there  was  truth 
In  the  two  orbs — the  eyes  of  Ruth. 

In  youthful  trust  she  stood  a  queen 
In  beauty,  hope  and  graceful  mien. 

Her  heart  was  glad,  a  joy  was  there, 
Her  way  was  bright,  the  future  fair . 

••  You  trusted  me,  I  trusted  you. 
And  sin  was  hid  from  mortal  view. 

I  sat  within  the  sunset-gold, 

And  knew  your  heart  was  warm,  not  cold." 

Thus  spoke  the  maiden  in  her  joy, 
In  words  that  came  without  alloy: 

"You  gave  me  scope  in  fields  of  lore: 
And  as  I  thirsted  gave  me  more. 

You  trusted  me— I  did  not  stray 
Along  a  rough  and  thorny  way. 

You  trusted  me — I  did  not  fall 

From  light  and  hope — beyond  your  call. 

You  trusted  me  upon  my  word, 
And  called  me  your  little  bird; 

You  pointed  me  where  angels  stood, 
With  crowns  of  stars  for  womanhood. 


142  Under  the   Gas-Light. 


I  left  my  home,  was  gone  for  aye, 
But  visions  of  a  golden  day, 

Like  rays  of  light  fell  by  my  side, 
While  clinging  to  my  trusted  guide. 

Had  you  lost  faith  in  me,  your  child. 
I  might  have  left  the  angel  guild : 

I  might  have  gone  a  gloomy  way. 
The  path  of  sin  without  a  ray. 

I  might  have  rode  a  phantom  barque, 
And  lost  ray  anchor  in  the  dsrk, 

And  cried  for  help-  a  friendly  oar. 
To  row  me  back  safe  to  the  shore. 

I  might  have  gone  without  a  chart, 
In  gloom  been  cast  with  weary  heart— 

I  might  have  stood  without  a  star 
To  light  to  golden  gates  ajar. 

You  said  to  me  the  world  was  cold : 
That  every  glitter  was  not  gold ; 

And  bid  me  go  and  take  a  look 
Through  nature's  wide  unwritten  book." 

I  looked  and  saw  a  pilgrim  pale, 
Who  faced  a  strong  contending  gale, 

Without  a  guide,  without  a  light — 
It  was  a  wild — a  fearful  night, 

I  saw  a  wreck,  a  stranded  life, 
Who  might  have  been  a  happy  wite. 

Had  she  been  loved  and  not  been  sold 
For  lands  and  checks,  coupons  and  gold  , 

She  might  have  been  a  central  light 
For  God,  for  truth— the  cause  of  right, 

Had  she  received  a  gentle  hand — 
Not  been  held  by  an  iron  band, 

She  might  have  stood  with  men  of  thought: 
The  soul  and  mind  she  might  have  taught, 

Had  she  been  nursed  like  buds  to  flowers, 
And  not  been  watched  thro'  summer  bowers. 


Under  the   Gas- Light.  143 

A  guide,  a  light,  a  strength,  a  tower — 
Man's  rest  and  joy,  a  lonely  hour, 

Had  she  been  led  by  songs  of  love, 
Had  she  been  called  a  little  dove. 

But  ill-winds  blew  across  her  path — 
Blew  with  an  angry,  fearful  wrath. 

The  bud  had  taken  an  early  chill, 
And  to  a  flower  did  not  fill. 

It  fell,  it  died  in  fertile  soil, 

To  bloom  and  grace  it  could  not  toil — 

It  drooped  and  died— it  cried — the  heart — 
For  soothing  dew  to  make  it  start. 

"  Oh!  that  my  father  would  trust  trie: 
And  why  he  won't  I  cannot  see. 

My  honor,  woxild  not  that  suffice, 
With  volumes  of  his  good  advice?" 

These  were  the  words  she  often  said ! 
They  told  of  a  heart  poorly  fed — 

Told  of  a  soul  that  wanted  rest — . 
Of  love  that  cried  to  be  caressed. 

"  I  cannot  trust  you  from  the  hearth," 
Were  words  that  brought  a  fatal  dearth — 

To  heart  and  soul  a  hungry  thirst — 
To  cry  "  why  should  I  thus  be  cursed  ?  " 

The  night  was  cold — the  heart  had  cried. 
In  angry  storm  it  had  been  tried. 

There  came  a  hush ;  the  soul  had  fled, 
And  he  who  was  stern  bowed  his  head. 

And  said,  "Oh  God!  forgive  the  sin, 
For  with  more  love  it  had  not  been 

As  seen  to-night  by  those  with  tears — 
As  seen  to-night  by  those  of  years. 

Why  did  I  chill  the  lovely  flower 
As  cold  as  some  cathedral  tower  ? 

Why  did  I  drive  my  child  away— 
Away  from  my  heart.  Oh!  fatal  day. 


144  Under  the   Gas-Light. 


Why  was  I  so  cold  and  stern 
That  I  would  not  her  trust  return. 

For  which  she  sought— for  which  she  plead. 
That  hee  hungry  soul  might  be  fed?" 


1  turned,  I  saw  a  happy  home; 

From  keys — from  heart — a  gentle  tone. 

"  Had  we  ne'er  met "  was  not  the  song: 
That  told  to  me  oi  inward  wrong. 

Here  love  doth  dwell ;  I  knew  it  well, 
That  this  was  not  a  household  hell. 

The  words  of  love,  the  gold  of  trust 
Had  saved  a  flower  from  the  dust. 

For  she  was  loved  in  early  years, 
And  told  to  stay  her  falling  tears- 
Was  told  to  wander  on  the  main, 
Was  told  to  ramble  down  the  lane. 

Her  heart  was  full,  devoid  of  gloom; 
A  joy  had  come — a  happy  boon ; 

A  manly  strength,  a  manly  voice, 
'Twas  all  to  her,  the  heart's  own  choice. 

A  little  one,  a  bind,  a  twig, 
Of  love— of  trust,  in  infant  rig, 

As  love  had  taught  began  to  say, 
"  Ma,  please,  may  I  go  out  to  play  ?  " 

My  life,  my  light,  my  hope  and  pride, 
More  beautiful  than  when  a  bride. 

"It  came  through  trust,'"  was  what  was  said. 
As  the  tired  boy  was  put  to  bed. 


